


The Colors Change

by summerwines



Category: Dude That's My Ghost!
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Drug Use, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwines/pseuds/summerwines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Spencer's eyes, this is how Billy Joe becomes Billy Joe Cobra, and this is how he finds what he needs to keep his feet grounded on the earth. [AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where Spencer and Billy grow up together. Last June, I started writing this, and then by the end of the first part, I got stuck in a rut. A month later, and voila, I dug myself out. Basically, I wanted to write this because I wanted to write a big Spencer/Billy romance thing. I just--I don't know. So I took the DTMG universe, got a bunch of its characters, and made it into something quite different.
> 
> Also available [@ LJ](http://bombyourboats.livejournal.com/1239.html)

Billy’s hands, wrapped in blue gloves that cover his wounds, are stiff on Spencer’s lap.

His voice sweeps through Spencer’s ear. He sings him a song, and Spencer shivers. It’s actually painful, because his chest tightens, and his legs stiffen.

His first instinct is to ask him to stop, but he doesn’t do it, because he feels Billy’s mouth brush through his ear. It stops him. It makes him freeze. He thinks about asking him if his hands still hurt, if he thinks the wounds are healing.

Spencer turns and his mouth is caught.

The bus rocks as it goes through a bumpy road. It makes Spencer dizzier than he already is.

When they separate, Billy starts crying on Spencer’s shoulder. He’s pleading. He’s telling Spencer how much he regrets, how much he wants to turn back time, because this isn’t how everything was supposed to go.

Spencer almost wants to cry with him, but he stops himself.

Instead, he tells him a story.

+

Their first kiss happens way before their actual one. Spencer has to cover his mouth to hide a big grin whenever he remembers it.

It happens when Spencer’s four, and Billy’s five, off the coast of Southern California, on a luxury yacht that’s been painted pink like cotton candy.

Baby Jessica’s been with them for exactly a year. She has a lack of hair, some teeny tiny fingers, and an abundance of parental love that insists on celebrating her birth with a bang. Hugh and Jane organize the party, with the help of the Cobras who handle the catering and the table setups. They make sure the centerpieces are made of glass candy and the balloons are all blue like the sky. They say it’s the least they can do, for their closest friends.

Spencer’s confused. He knows none of the people invited. He knows none of the Cobras—Clancy, Melissa, and Billy, who are already there when the Wrights arrive on the boat.

Clancy is a big and jolly man with black hair, a beard, and a bright yellow suit. Clancy pats Spencer’s head, and Spencer notes that his laugh reminds him of Santa Claus. Except, this isn’t Santa Claus. This is a man in yellow who Spencer shivers at the sight of. He notes, however, that his wife is one of the prettiest people he’s ever seen. Her hair is ice blonde, her legs are long, and her dress has long gold sleeves and flower prints. Spencer likes how the sun is hitting her skin, making her glow like an angel. Spencer’s grip on his mother’s hand tightens when he looks up from Melissa’s pale legs. Melissa smiles at him, winks.

Beside her, Spencer sees the little Cobra boy, wearing a button-down shirt and trousers, both bright red. He’s grinning, wide-mouthed and yellow-toothed. Spencer kind of hates him already.

They’re playing with the other little boys at the party when Billy steals Spencer’s Superman toy. Billy grabs it when it slips from Spencer’s arm for a split second. Billy cackles, gives a whole speech about finders-keepers. The other boys laugh along, cheering Billy on, leaving Spencer to fend for himself.

Spencer’s livid, stomping, and he tries to take the toy back. When he takes off his sneakers and throws them at Billy, he misses. He tries instead to punch the boy. Billy grabs Spencer’s wrists before Spencer can do anything. Spencer persists, struggles, tries to swing his now-held fists.

The grown-ups stop them when all the noise wakes Jessica from her nap. They grab Spencer and Billy, and they sit them down on chairs covered with star prints. Spencer’s parents give him a lecture about sharing, which is pretty ridiculous because they don’t know what happened.

Spencer and Billy are made to stand face to face. Spencer’s mom pats his back, urges him on, tells him to go ahead and apologize. Billy’s mom does the same with Billy.

“Go ahead, baby boy. Tell Spency you’re sorry.”

Spencer folds his arms, tight. He mumbles his apology, and Billy smiles at him, mischievous, scheming. Spencer thinks he’s a jerk.

Billy approaches Spencer, and he takes Spencer’s cheeks in his hands, nails digging in.

That’s when Billy kisses him, for about a minute.

Spencer is wide-eyed and angry and unable to move.

The grown-ups shrug it off, because apparently, it’s a common Billy occurrence.

Spencer doesn’t understand. When Billy runs to his mom, she carries him, kisses him, and he grabs her cheeks with his tiny hands. Everyone fawns over him. Spencer doesn’t understand.

Later, much later, more than a decade later, Spencer would ask Billy if he remembered this: their first meeting, their first kiss. Spencer finds out that Billy doesn’t, and Spencer rolls his eyes, hits Billy’s leg, and thinks, _yes, jerk, that’s for the Superman toy, fuck you_.

+

The Wrights and the Cobras start living together two years after the party at the yacht. The Wrights lose their house in Nevada to debt, and the Cobras invite them to stay at their mansion in Beverly Hills. The Wrights don’t hesitate; they take the offer and as soon as they could, they move their things into the stone-made, red-roofed, colonial-style mansion.

At first, the Wrights say they don’t want to impose. They stay in a single room, the four of them on a single bed. Spencer can barely sleep because of his father’s babbling and his sister’s tantrums. His mother is always preoccupied with coddling, trying to calm Jessica down. His father doesn’t care at all. He babbles on and on about things Spencer doesn’t understand – old golf pals, Oprah Winfrey, fashion lines, whatever. Spencer doesn’t care; he just wants to go back home, to his old room, where he could sleep in peace, where he could fiddle with his mom’s digicam without any disturbance.

Mrs. Cobra gives Spencer his own room in a week’s time. Around the same time, Billy Joe gets kicked out from his boarding school in London. He’s sent home just as Spencer’s room is fixed up.

Its ceiling is high; its walls are painted bright green. There’s a wide, empty space between the closet, the bed, and the door. It’s at the third floor of the mansion, so Spencer can see the whole town from his window. And the room is right next to Billy’s, which gives Billy fast and easy access.

Billy jumps on Spencer’s bed, and he asks Spencer a thousand questions. “What cartoons do you like? Do you like movies? You like Toy Story? No? I love Toy Story. How old are you? Are you gonna stay here forever? Why’d you lose your house?”

Spencer folds his arms, displeased.

Billy says, “Why don’t you like me? Everyone else likes me. Why don’t you?”

Spencer shrugs.

Billy crumples his face. “Hm,” he says. “I think someone needs a good tickling.”

“No. No way, Billy—“ Spencer struggles. “H—Billy!” Billy tackles him down onto the bed, and Spencer can’t help his laughter. He can’t breathe, and he can’t stop laughing.

When he stops, Billy asks Spencer whether he minds “if I call you bromigo.” Spencer says, “no, not okay,” but then Billy threatens him with another tickle, so Spencer concedes, “yeah, yeah, okay.”

Billy gives him a toothy grin and a bear hug. They’re still lying down. Billy has his face on Spencer’s stomach.

“Spencer, Spencer,” Billy repeats, “My new best friend.”

Spencer frowns, and he tries pushing Billy away. Billy shakes, doesn’t let him.

“Spencer, Spencer,” he repeats again, and then he says, “I’m gonna make you like me, Spencer. I will.”

+

For a while, Spencer doesn’t give a Billy chance. He still remembers the day at the yacht, and he’s holding a grudge.

Billy wants to move into Spencer’s room, but Spencer doesn’t let him.

He wants to jump on Spencer’s bed.

He wants to wear Spencer’s sneakers.

Billy wants to feed him sandwiches, bite his fingernails, sleep on his stomach, drool on his pillows.

Spencer has to give Billy a chance, because Billy won’t leave him alone.

At school, Billy throws a tantrum when they tell him Spencer won’t be his classmate. Of course he won’t, Billy’s a year older. Spencer is the only one who can calm him down. Spencer pats his back, promises he’ll let Billy in his room and he’ll play any game Billy wants to play.

At the mansion, Spencer is starting to feel right at home. Melissa Cobra makes the best peanut-butter brownies. Billy goes crazy for them, because, “Peanut-butter??? Brownies??? Momma, I’m gonna die, momma.” He’d always lie down on the floor, flat on his back, and pretend to be dead. His mother would laugh at him, and Spencer would laugh at him. Melissa would pretend to be weeping over Billy, and Spencer would laugh even more.

Donning a yellow apron and a polka-dotted dress, Melissa sets up a radio on the white countertop while she bakes a batch, stirs a bowl. Spencer and Billy are right by her legs while she shakes her hips. She sings, her voice high and lively. Billy dances, arms swinging in the air, body jiggling to the disco song. Spencer tries to dance, but he’s stiff, and Billy laughs at him. Spencer is not offended, though. He just giggles, tries dancing some more.

When the brownies are in the oven, Spencer sits by the dining table while Melissa carries Billy in her arms, tossing him around.

“You’re gonna be a star,” she tells her son. “A big, big star. You’re gonna do things your momma was never able to do.” She tickles Billy’s nose. “Isn’t that right, my beautiful boy?”

Billy hugs her neck and says, “Yes, momma. I will.” She kisses Billy’s forehead, and Billy grins.

“Can Spencer be a star too?” Billy asks her, his hands tugging her bright blonde locks.

Melissa looks at Spencer, and she smiles. “Of course he can, honey. If Spency wants to, he can.” She gives Spencer a wink.

Spencer thinks Billy’s mother is beautiful. And he’s starting to see why everyone else fawns over Billy, why everyone thinks he’s beautiful.

Billy’s tossed around, as Melissa spins. Her hair and her apron swing with her. Her feet glide through the floor. Billy’s giggles sweep through Spencer’s ears. The glimmer from outside hits Billy’s face as he starts cackling. Spencer watches them, eyes agape, and he wonders, briefly, what Melissa meant by Billy becoming a star.

+

They talk about the future at short length when Spencer’s ten and Billy’s eleven.

“I think I’m gonna be a farmer when I grow up,” Billy says. They’re on the bleachers by the football field at their school, waiting for time to pass by since their ride is an hour late. Billy takes out some bread and a jar of peanut butter. He holds it out to tell Spencer that he should do the spreading. Spencer grabs a used spoon from his lunch bag, licks it up, and proceeds to lather the peanut butter.

“A farmer, huh? Are you sure?” Spencer asks him, remembering how Billy wouldn’t even touch the watering can when Melissa was teaching them how to plant seedlings in their indoor flower garden.

“Sure I’m sure, broski.” Billy bites his sandwich, and he looks blissful at its taste.

“But I thought you were, you know, gonna be a star—and stuff.”

“I will, brobro. But I still wanna be a farmer.”

Spencer smiles some, and he rests his head on Billy’s shoulder. Billy munches on his sandwich, and he talks with his mouth full. “Pigs are just so cute, you know. And cows, Spence. You think I can ask momma for a cow? I think I will. You think she’ll buy me one?”

She probably won’t.

“Maybe? I dunno, dude,” is all Spencer can say, while he winds his fingers around Billy’s arm, smiles brightly on Billy’s shoulder.

+

When Spencer turns eleven, he gets his first video camera.

Since he was five, he’d been asking his mom how movies were made, and he said he really wanted to make one.

One day, he watched his mom go through her closet and grab a digital camera that fit right in her hand. She said, “Well, Spency, you see this? This is a camera.” She had him sit on her lap while she turned it on. “Look here, Spency. Watch what happens when mommy presses this button right here—“ Spencer watched, and Jane turned the camera to them. She told Spencer to say hi. He did, and later on, he watched himself do exactly that on video.

When he turns eleven, they don’t hold a party, because Spencer doesn’t want one this year. Instead, they’re all at the second-floor lounge with pink walls and a wide window. They’re gathered at the neon green couches. Spencer, Billy, and Jessica are on the floor. Spencer’s opening his presents, Billy watches with a big-toothed grin, and Jessica sits with a frown and her arms crossed.

Spencer gets a video cam and he’s the happiest kid in the world. He turns to his mom and dad, and he hugs them tightly, says “thank you, thank you.” Then, he runs back to Billy, and he hugs Billy, and he doesn’t really know why he’s hugging Billy. He just does, and Billy cackles while he hugs back.

Everyday, Spencer would use his camera to shoot Billy dancing to random songs on the radio. He uses it when he has friends over, to take videos of them pretending to be vicious, roaring monsters with Billy.

He has two new friends and one new enemy who are regulars in his videos: Rajeev Kaur, Shanilla Kaur, and Lolo Callory. The Kaurs play fellow monsters with Billy. Spencer films Lolo in secret, while she argues with Billy about whose car looks better and whose shoes are newer before they go back home from school. It makes for a good laugh.

Mostly, he shoots Billy dancing, singing, and rambling on and on about food, and farm animals, and unicorns, and porpoises. Much later, Spencer discovers MeTube and the horror genre, but before that, Spencer opts to fill his days and his memory card with Billy’s face.

+

To Spencer, it makes sense that all his firsts are with Billy – first bike ride, first trip to the zoo, first time on a rollercoaster, first trip to Tokyo.

The first real kiss they have, it’s like nothing to them. Billy asks, “Do you wanna try it out?” because apparently, Billy’s one of the only guys in his class who hasn’t done it. Spencer, age 13, says he doesn’t mind. He says “sure” without hesitating, without knowing what the big deal is.

They kiss, lying down on Spencer’s bed, for about ten seconds. They’re stiff, and they keep their mouths tightly wound.

“Hm,” is all they say after doing it.

Their second kiss goes much differently. Billy wanted to test something out, to see if he could put some “technique” to it.

They stand up against Spencer’s wall. Billy grips on Spencer’s waist, and he rubs a finger on Spencer’s stomach. Billy’s eyes are brooding. He leans in, slowly, and Spencer meets him halfway. They kiss, and Spencer furrows his eyebrows, suddenly feeling hot. Spencer thinks they’re probably doing it wrong; he doesn’t know if he’s moving his lips the right way.

He gets goosebumps when Billy bites his lower lip. Billy kisses him and kisses him, and a line of spit is left between their mouths when they separate for a moment. Spencer can barely breathe, but he wants back in. He jumps Billy, arms circling his neck, desperate.

This goes on for twenty minutes.

And then it goes on for days on end.

They swap spit whenever they can: after school, after homework, after dinner, while playing video games, while watching TV, before going to sleep. When Billy learns to use his tongue, Spencer goes with. Billy kisses him with peanut butter on his lips, with brownie crumbs under his chin, with morning drool splotched on his jaw. Billy’s pretty gross, but that’s how Spencer likes him. Spencer likes cleaning him up, kissing away anything he finds on Billy’s mouth.

It’s all a secret. When they’re around the grown-ups, the farthest they go is a peck on the cheek. Mostly, it’s all under the covers, or in the bathroom before they brush their teeth, or behind the azalea bushes in their indoor garden.

No one suspects, though Spencer is not entirely sure what everyone thinks they do, all day and all night, in each other’s rooms.

Billy calls them “kissing bros,” which Spencer thinks is totally inappropriate, but he doesn’t argue, because he doesn’t want to upset Billy. Spencer just wants to kiss him, as much as he can, every single day.

+

It only becomes a bit of an issue when the boys at school start laughing about “gross faggots” who kiss other boys. It becomes more of an issue when it dawns on him that, _fuck_ , _oh yeah,_ regular boys don’t have Billies.

It hits Spencer like a bullet.

Spencer asks Billy about this while they’re in the car on their way home from school. The driver can’t hear them, since a screen blocks his seat. Spencer’s exact words are, “What do you think about gay people?”

Billy looks surprised because of the question. He raises an eyebrow and he says, “Bro, dude, Spence, are you seriously asking me that? I mean, do you not see the bromance here?’

“Of course I do,” Spencer says, though he really doesn’t.

“We’re bromos, man. Bromos. Kissing bros. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Bromos?”

“Yeah, dude.” Billy takes Spencer’s face and he leans in for a soft kiss. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Spencer whines.

“I’m totally gonna marry you Spence, once we’re allowed to,” Billy says.

“Shut up, take me on a date first, I’m still in middle school.”

“Yo, man, don’t remind me. “

+

When the girls in his class surround Spencer’s desk during one of their breaks, he freezes. They ask him who he thinks is “totally hot,” and he doesn’t answer because all that’s in his head is, “Billy. Billy Joe Cobra? Do you know him? I live with him. We make out every day. And, dude, he’s totally hot. Hot as fuck.”

It freaks Spencer out.

The girls leave him alone when Rajeev butts in, trying to squeeze in the Jeevster moves, gun motions and puckered lips included. Spencer laughs, though he’s panicking inside his head. He takes his camera, and he tries to direct his attention to it. He watches a short he shot with Rajeev and he tries to spot any errors. He fails to concentrate, because all he can think about now is going home and sitting on Billy’s crotch. He wants to ask him some things, and he wants to tell Billy he’s hot, just to see how he’d react.

Spencer is fourteen and Billy is fifteen. They’re both in high school, both at a time when hormones are starting to take over.

Billy has grown so tall, and as much as Spencer would want to deny it, he likes their height difference. It freaks him out; it really does. Because he thinks it’s hot.

At home, Billy is in a black tank top and orange jeans, playing his electric guitar. He’s doing Hungry Like the Wolf, while Spencer stares, takes a video of him from the bed. Spencer stares at his fingers, his face, his legs, and his arms, his _fucking_ arms. He zooms in on those fucking arms, and then he zooms out when he thinks he’s spent too much time on them.

They’ve come to a point where they’ve already figured out what they’re supposed to do when they get erections. After a lot of time rubbing their jeans together, it comes as common sense to them. They jack each other off; they do so quite a lot. They do so later on, after Billy finishes guitar practice. They do so quite quickly, while lying side by side on Billy’s bed.

When they finish, Spencer lies down and thinks. He looks around Billy’s room, sees posters of Fred Astaire and David Bowie, all of which Melissa put up. He likes it here. He likes the bright yellow walls with giant anime-style drawings of NSYNC, the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears.

After some awkward silence, Spencer asks the older boy about sex, whether “you know, you’d like to do it sometime, with me.” He knows jacking off doesn’t count as actual sex, of course he does, he’s fourteen, not stupid.

Billy’s eyes thin, and he stares at Spencer darkly. He props himself up on his elbow, half-suspending over Spencer.

Spencer gulps, “W-What?” he says, with a nervous laugh. Billy kisses him, quick.

“Of course we will, brojangles,” Billy says, right against Spencer’s lips. “Just—We’ll both have to be a little more ready. And maybe a little older.”

“Y-Yeah.” Spencer grabs the back of Billy’s shirt. He wants to pull Billy down, kiss him some more.

Spencer waits, and he itches.

And he researches. He learns the ins and outs of sex with other guys, and he readies himself. Spencer googles during his free time, mostly while Melissa takes Billy to his voice coach after school and while he’s not busy shooting for his MeTube updates with Rajeev and Shanilla.

He actually finds websites on how to “please your top” and how to “please your bottom.” It makes him laugh, but it’s still very interesting. He decides what he likes better. Spencer looks for things at the mansion that could count as lube (and he finds a lot of actual lube in Melissa’s cabinet, which kind of makes him blush).

It makes him feel giddy and a little powerful, that he probably knows more than Billy does.

Months later, when Spencer’s fifteen and Billy’s sixteen, Spencer asks again, and he pleads for it, rubbing Billy’s back, mouth on Billy’s ear. He says, “C’mon, Billy. Please? Fuck me, please?” He read somewhere that pleading works for a lot of guys, and he kind of takes his chance with it.

Billy cheeks turn rosy pink, and he’s all “shh, Spence. We’re not even sure if everyone’s asleep.”

“Who cares, dude?”

And then it’s awkward, and sweaty, though in Spencer’s head, it’s perfect.

They’re under the powder blue covers of Spencer’s bed, buck-naked, lapping at each other’s mouths, biting into each other’s skin. Billy sucks Spencer off, and then he fingers him, quietly, only tight groans escaping his mouth.

When Billy’s inside him, Spencer feels like exploding. He feels like his stomach, his arms, his legs, are all being pulled and stretched on his sheets. It’s painful, and then it’s itchy, and then it’s good. Spencer hooks his legs around Billy’s back. Billy goes slowly, and he looks like he’s about to cry. Spencer moans when he’s all in, and then he laughs when Billy sighs and sobs on his shoulder.

Spencer can’t speak when he cums and when Billy rambles and cries, “I love you, Spence. I love you so much.”

Spencer knows all about situations like this. Film and TV have made it clear that people get carried away during sex; they say things they don’t mean. So Spencer doesn’t believe what Billy says, and it’s a-okay. It’s not a big deal.

He’s in Billy’s arms later, and he feels warm, satisfied, spent. He has half his body flat on Billy, his head in the crook of Billy’s neck. Billy talks to him, tells him about practice.

“Momma’s helping me get my music out there, Spence,” he says.

“That’s cool, Billy.”

“I’m making a mix tape. Been writing songs, you know. And I think they’re pretty good. I think they’re hella good, actually.”

“I’m sure they are.”

“I want you to be there, dude, when I start recording.”

“Do you have any love songs about me?” Spencer chuckles.

“ _All_ my love songs are about you.”

“No, dude, be serious. Do you, really?”

Billy’s quiet. Spencer shuts his eyes and bites his lip.

“Okay, no, so they’re not really about you. It’s just random love stuff. But I still want you to hear them.”

“Okay,” Spencer says, propping himself up so he can take a good look at Billy’s face.

Billy smiles at him, teeth big. Spencer smiles too, before he leans down and kisses him.

“There was something else I wanted to ask you, by the way,” Billy says.

“What is it?” Spencer cocks an eyebrow up.

Billy’s hands grab Spencer’s butt cheeks, and Spencer jolts, electrocuted.

“W—“

“What was that thing you were doing?”

“W—What thing?” Spencer can’t look at him. He’s getting red, and he’s getting hard again.

“You were, like, twitching around me, broster. And it was so fucking nice. How’d you do that?”

“That was not a fucking technique,” Spencer says, setting his head down on Billy’s chest. “That’s just what happens when someone’s—you know—rammed up in there.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Fuck, Billy. I really wanna do it again. You’re not allowed to hold me like that,” Spencer says.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Billy smiles, just when Spencer goes back to shove some more tongue down his throat.

+

After their first time (which is also their second), and after several more times, Spencer notices some changes.

Physically, he feels like his legs have gotten thinner and longer, and he feels like he’s losing some of his leftover fat from his childhood.

Billy’s become less and less subtle. At dinner, when the Cobras and the Wrights are all together at the table, Billy tries to hook his arm around Spencer’s shoulders, and feed him, and rub his legs. Spencer laughs this off, calls him a dork. The grown-ups are as oblivious as ever, but Spencer sees Jessica roll her eyes at them.

“Whatever you’re doing to my brother, I don’t like it,” Jessica says, in front of everyone, eyes green and glaring at Billy.

Spencer keeps himself from heating up. He stays calm, because he can’t afford not to.

“What do you mean, Jessica?” Clancy laughs, while Melissa holds his shoulder and offers a coy laugh.

“They’re probably playing some game,” Hugh says.

“Yeah, that’s it, we’re just playing a game,” Spencer says.

Billy and Jessica glare at each other, eyes thinning, and it’s tense, horribly tense, and quiet.

Billy and Jessica drop their silverware and just glare at each other, for the rest of the dinner.

It’s the first time Spencer is afraid about someone suspecting. It’s the first and hardly the last.

+

When Spencer goes on a date with Billy, he worries for a second time.

He’s pinned down on neatly trimmed grass, in the park where there are older, legal aged couples strolling around doing almost the same thing as Spencer and Billy.

Spencer keeps his mouth half-open and he rubs Billy’s back. Billy is trying to use his mouth to feed Spencer the apple slices with peanut-butter coating. He takes a piece one at a time, from his cylinder plastic container, and he secures the piece between his teeth before he leans down. Spencer bites, chews, and laughs, before he flicks his tongue at the spot of peanut-butter left at Billy’s right cheek.

They make out with their eyes closed, on top of the grass, the glimmer of the sun faint on their skin.

“Can’t we do this all day?” Spencer asks him, though struggling to keep his breath.

“No can do brotein shake,” Billy says. “But we still have a few hours before my show at the Wi Fri, so—“

“Just feed me another apple, dude.”

Billy traps a piece between his teeth. Spencer nibbles it, goes up slowly. He laughs when he finally gets to Billy’s lips. “I love this a lot,” he says. “Forever, Billy. I wanna do this forever.”

“Anything for my hot boyfriend,” Billy says, and Spencer smiles. He pecks Billy’s cheek, once, then twice, then several more times until he’s satisfied.

It’s a few minutes later when Spencer hears an all too familiar laugh that makes his eyes widen.

He pushes Billy away, and he crawls, fast, to the back of a maple tree. Billy follows him, though he doesn’t understand.

“My mom’s right there, Billy,” Spencer says.

And she is. Jane Wright is there with her red hair tied in a bun and with her poodle at her stride.

Spencer hears her talking on her cellphone.

“I’m at the park, Hugh, why?” she says. “Oh—Oh, okay. I’ll go to the store as soon as I can—and—Spencer?”

He has to gulp.

“He’s with Billy, somewhere. I don’t really know, sweetie. Those two have a lot secrets.”

+

The third time is with Rajeev and Shanilla, who Spencer calls up to shoot another zombie short.

Billy isn’t at the house. He’s at a studio, practicing with the band his mother hired for him. A label’s already taken interest in his music, and they want him to polish his songs, record them with better instrumentals.

The tripod is set up on the pool terrace, and Shanilla is dressing Rajeev in a zombie bride outfit she fixed up. Spencer stands and waits for them to finish.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. When he picks it up, he sees the shirtless picture of Billy, the one Spencer put in as an icon for whenever Billy calls.

He tells Shanilla and Rajeev that he’ll be right back. He runs, smiling, into the house, and up to his room, where he’s sure his friends won’t hear him.

“How’s practice?” Spencer says, as soon as he answers.

“Going great, brobycakes,” Billy laughs.

Spencer sits on his bed. “So what’s up?” he says.

“I—uh—Was just calling to tell you I won’t be home later.”

“What? How come?” Spencer’s eyebrows wrinkle, and his mouth curls, and his heart sinks.

“I’m going to this party at the Hilton. There’s supposed to be a bunch of Hollywood executives coming. Mom’s introducing me and stuff. And, well, she decided we’d stay for the night.” He pauses, and Spencer breathes. “It’s just one night, Spence. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Who said it wasn’t?” Spencer laughs. “Have fun, Billy. Show them what the Cobra’s made of.”

“Of course,” Billy says.

“When’ll you be home?”

“Monday morning.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So—I guess—“

“Like I said, have fun. And I gotta go, Billy. You’re not the only busy guy here.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Me too.”

“Bye, Spence.”

“Bye, Billy.”

Spencer tries to cool himself off as soon as he puts down his cellphone. He inhales and exhales. He’s not allowed to feel this way. He’s not. Sure, he hardly remembers a single night he didn’t spend with Billy, but that’s no excuse to feel codependent and useless.

Under his blanket, Spencer always keeps one of Billy’s tank tops as a safeguard for times like these. Spencer takes it and he has to lie down so he can focus on the smell. He curls himself up, and he shuts his eyes.

“Spence?”

“Oh, shi—I mean, Shanilla.” Spencer jumps, stands up, sees Shanilla by his doorway. “You—uh—You guys ready?”

“Yeah, you were just taking a little long, so I thought—“

“Y—Yeah, c’mon, let’s go.” Spencer walks up to her, stops and smiles, and then walks past her.

“What were you doing?” she asks him, while they walk down the stairs.

“Nothing,” Spencer says. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Oh—“ She pauses, and Spencer can’t look at her. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

She leaves it at that, and Spencer’s thankful. Rajeev goes crazy during the shoot, and it’s great, because that’s how Spencer planned it. They go by the script, Rajeev being the zombie, and Shanilla being the one chased. He’ll be editing in another background and some special effects later on.

He tries not to think about Billy, that night. He tries so hard. Shanilla sends him a message on Facebook, saying she hopes the movie’s turning out great. He knows there’s some hidden message there, but he doesn’t try to decipher it. Instead, he mopes, and he edits his movie, and he thinks about Billy. He masturbates, because he can’t help it, and he gets so, so pissed off.

+

Teenage pop sensation Billy Joe Cobra—or BJC for short—makes a summer debut on an afternoon variety show in the Big Apple.

Spencer doesn’t miss it, of course he doesn’t. He’s drinking a strawberry smoothie at the Wi Fri with Rajeev and Shanilla. The place is loaded, because everyone’s all psyched up to see local pretty boy Billy Joe rise to fame.

He sings a song Spencer saw him record, one about pretty girls and their pretty skin and their pretty personalities.

Spencer keeps his eyes glued to the TV. Billy stands on a stage that’s been lit with neon blue lights. Spencer watches Billy twang his guitar, smile, and wink. He puckers his lips during one of the stanzas, and the girls are going wild. Spencer gets it. He definitely gets it.

As a part of the choreography, roses are being thrown onto the stage after Billy ends his song. He bows as petals gather at his feet. The camera pans to a bunch of grinning young girls who are shouting Billy’s name.

Billy screams on the microphone, “I’d like to thank my momma, my dad, and my best bro, Spencer Wright. I love you guys!”

The people at the Wi Fri sneak looks at Spencer, murmuring. Spencer tries his best not to look at them. He only looks at Shanilla sitting right beside him. She smiles at him, and nods. She says, “Billy’s going all the way, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Looks like it.”

Three days later, Billy comes back home, and when they’re alone in Spencer’s room, Spencer strips off Billy’s olive green coat, and his ridiculous yellow-and-purple shirt. He unbuckles Billy’s red belt, and tugs his pants down. Billy’s trying to tell him all about New York, but Spencer’s not having it, not right now.

Billy fucks him against the wall, and Spencer pants hard, cums hard ten minutes in. Billy’s still fucking him after he cums, and Billy goes faster, throwing away all attempts at being gentle.

They’re on the bed when Billy explodes, and Spencer’s whimpering and moaning out Billy’s name.

Spencer missed him so much, and he’s so happy right now he could die.

+

Everything happens so fast. Spencer doesn’t know how to wrap his mind around it.

Billy’s first music video airs on Nickelodeon. Then, Billy guests on Ellen DeGeneres, where he bumps and grinds with the audience, makes a lot of middle-aged ladies scream in delight. Weeks later, Billy’s performing at malls around California, then Texas, then Illinois, then another place and another place. He guest stars on a Disney Channel TV show, where he plays a pop star who’s trying to hide his identity from a crazed fan.

In the in-betweens, he’s with Spencer, lying on whosever bed is convenient. Billy would spend whole days kissing Spencer neck, biting into Spencer’s shoulders, leaving marks that would last for exactly the amount of time Billy would be gone.

Billy’s supposed to be a senior, but his mother pulls him out, says he should focus on his career. Billy says he doesn’t mind, although Spencer can tell that he does. Spencer tells him that he’s doing amazing, he’s doing great, “You’re a fucking star, man. And from the looks of it, you’ll be around for ages. So don’t worry about school.”

“But _you’ll_ still worry about school?”

“Yeah, Billy. I’m not a star. I can’t sing. I can’t dance. I’m not like you.”

“Sure you can dance. You dance fine. And you sing fine. We could start a boy band.”

“Dude, that’s not happening. Not in a million years.”

Billy tries to argue that it can indeed happen. Spencer scratches his head, and he glares at him.

“If you really think that’s an option, then you’re fucking fool.”

At this, Billy shuts up.

Spencer doesn’t.

He shuts his eyes.

“How long can we keep this up, Billy?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, asshole.”

“I really don’t.”

This shuts Spencer up. He grunts, and he turns away, releases himself from Billy’s body. The feeling he has is new. Right now, more than anything, he wants Billy to go away, because he’s not helping. He’s not making anything better. He’s not going to reassure him.

It’s unfair; he knows that. But he can’t help what he feels.

+

It only gets worse when Billy agrees to make a documentary on his life.

The Wrights and the Cobras need to sign a whole contract to allow a bunch of cameramen to survey their house 24/7 for a few weeks. They want to capture the whole Cobra experience. They’ll be doing a lot of interviews, and they’ll be shooting the family in their most precious moments.

Spencer hates it.

He signs the damn contract, but he decides to spend most of his time away from the mansion. He stays at Rajeev and Shanilla’s. He can’t stay at the Wi Fri, because that’s yet another place taken over by cameras.

The Kaur mansion is big, black, and Victorian. Rajeev and Shanilla’s rooms are on opposite sides of the fourth floor. Right next to each of their bedrooms is a room just for their clothes, connected to their showers. Next to that room is game room, and then a library, and then a TV room. The room in the middle is their very own kitchen, which they share. It always smells like curry, mixed with strawberries.

“How do you guys live like this?”

“Isn’t it amazing?” Rajeev says, leaning down on his blue velvet couch.

“For one, Spence, we don’t need BJCs following us around day and night,” Shanilla says, sitting in her pajamas while she combs her hair on Rajeev’s bed.

Spencer folds his arms and curls his lips, sits on Rajeev’s computer desk. They’re in different corners of Rajeev’s room, and they probably look ridiculous.

“Yeah, unlike some people, we find other things to keep us occupied,” Rajeev says, with a yawn.

“Not everyone has a superstar making out with them whenever he gets the chance,” Shanilla says.

“Yeah, well.”

They know. Spencer told them, sometime ago. He told them when he couldn’t take it anymore. He told them when he was getting too overwhelmed by Billy and his fucking career that keeps on giving Spencer unwanted attention.

They took it well, though while Rajeev was a little confused, Shanilla shrugged it off.

“Things still aren’t going well in that department,” Spencer says.

“Did you fight?” asks Shanilla.

“No, but he’s shooting this documentary, and we had to sign this fucking contract since they want the whole family to be in it.”

“Oh dear,” Shanilla says.

“Yeah, fucking A-plus.”

Spencer brings out his camera from his backpack. He sighs. “So,” he says. “You guys game for some gore tonight?”

Rajeev sits up, yawns, and stretches his arms. “I’m afraid not, Spence. I’ve got people coming over in half an hour, and I have got to get ready.”

“What?” Spencer and Shanilla are both confused.

“Invited a bunch of guys over for drinks and dancing.” Rajeev does some gun motions and a kissy face.

“You never told me,” Shanilla says.

“You just weren’t listening, sistah,” he says. “I called Kleet, Mallory, Trina, Mei-Mei, Angelo, a bunch of other guys, and of course, my dear Lolo. They RSVPed as soon as I said Spencer was here.”

“Rajeev!” Shanilla shouts. “What the hell! You know they just want some—I dunno—Billy gossip, fuck.”

“It’s fine,” Spencer huffs. In truth, he already knew something like this would happen. It’s Rajeev. It’s not exactly surprising.

Rajeev shoos them away so he can dress up properly. Shanilla runs to her room, because she wants to dress up too. She can’t be seen in her pajamas. She tells Spencer he should stay in the kitchen and grab something to eat.

Spencer stays there, eats some cookies from their jar shaped like an elephant. Shanilla joins him a little later, and then Rajeev comes in, suddenly with Mallory and Kleet.

Mallory sits next to Spencer, on the floor, on the brick red mat by the minibar. Shanilla’s sitting beside him too, but when Lolo arrives, she squeezes herself between them.

The party begins with a lot of talk, and a lot of dancing.

There are girls with neon fingernails and hipster glasses gathering around Rajeev, making him the happiest boy in town.  There are boys in varsity jackets going through the pantries, looking for booze, taking the booze, spilling some on the floor, and sending Shanilla into a frenzy.

The music bleeds, a mix of electronica and heavy metal.

People’s voices bleed, and it hurts Spencer’s ears.

“Does Billy play any sports?”

“So how many shoes does Billy _really_ have?”

“Is it true he’s afraid of heights?”

Spencer gets totally drunk in an attempt to block everything out. He mixes a few drinks that do not taste good at all. He takes a smoke offered to him by some guy, and he’s pretty sure he just had his first taste of marijuana.

“Is Billy single?”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Oh.” It was Mallory who asked. She ogles at him, bright red lips pursing. “Would you know who the lucky girl is?”

Spencer gulps down his drink, straight from a bottle that someone else already drank from. “Yeah, I do.”

“Is she pretty?” someone else says.

“I really don’t think Spencer can answer that guys. Don’t—“

“Shanilla, it’s cool. You know, _she_ is actually pretty ugly. I have no idea what Billy sees in her.”

“But why would Billy date her?” Mallory says.

“You might be selling her short, Spence,” Shanilla says.

“So you know her too, Shani?”

“Oh—No—I just meant, you know, I don’t think Billy would date someone ugly. And I think whoever he’s dating is probably amazing.”

Shanilla explains herself more, because suddenly, she’s bombarded with questions. Spencer drinks more of his bitter alcohol and he rolls his eyes at everyone. Lolo’s beside him, still, even though he’s no longer on the mat. He expected her to be more interested in the conversation, or at the very least repulsed. She proves to be neither. She’s deadpanned and preoccupied with her cellphone.

“I need to pee,” Spencer says, to no one. He struggles to get up. When he manages to, he ‘s unbalanced and sideways.

He stumbles into Rajeev’s room and heads for the toilet. He pees, missing the seat. He looks at the mirror, afterwards, and he sees how red he is. He sees a scratch on his cheek that he doesn’t remember getting. He sees the veins on his forehead and the soreness of his eyes.

“Knock, knock, loser.”

“Huh?”

Lolo comes into the bathroom, smile on her face. “Hello, Spencer.”

“Lolo?”

“Yeah, Lolo.”

“What? What is it? What do you want?”

“Someone’s waiting outside for you. Shani wanted me to tell you.”

“Then why didn’t she—why did you—Huh?”

She walks up to him and smacks his head. “Sometimes I do things for other people, okay? Is that so surprising?”

“It kind of is.”

She groans. “Just go outside, freak.” She walks out, stomping her feet.

The next thing Spencer knows, he’s walking down the Kaur’s spiral staircase. He wonders where Rajeev and Shanilla’s parents even are. There are people all around the house, and they’re all trying to pat his shoulder, shake his hand, have casual conversation with him, puke on him. He says he has to go. They swarm him, but he shakes himself away.

From the porch, Spencer has to run down some wide stairs before he can get to the gate.

Lolo’s there, and Adrian too, donning his usual bodyguard outfit. Spencer arches an eyebrow. “Lolo?” he says.

“Get in the car,” she says, opening the door to her blue limo. Adrian walks up to him, grabs him, and pushes him inside.

Spencer could barely protest. “W—H—Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later,” he hears Lolo say.

Spencer bangs on the door and yells, “Hey! Lolo! Where are the fuck are you taking me?”

“Shh,” someone holds his arms.

Spencer feels someone circling him, fingers clutching his chest, a head settling on his shoulder.

Spencer’s first instinct is to push him away.

“What the fuck! Get the fuck away from me, Billy!”

He shakes himself out of Billy’s arms, and he turns around. He sees Billy, sitting on the leather seat, dressed in a suit, looking hurt, betrayed. Spencer heaves, eyes shooting daggers.

“What is this? Why are you in Lolo’s car?” Spencer hits Billy’s chest. “Does she know about us, Billy? Does she?”

Billy lowers his head. He nods.

“Oh my god,” Spencer smacks his hands onto his face, “How the fuck did she find out?”

“She’s a friend,” Billy says.

Spencer has to laugh at this. “You’re so stupid, Billy,” he shakes his head. “You are so, so stupid.”

“Look, she promised not to tell anyone. She told me. She was going to, but I pleaded her not to, and—“

“She can ruin you with a snap of her finger, you know.”

“Dude, Spence, no, she can’t. Why would you think that?”

He hits Billy again. “How do you think people will react, Billy? Not everyone’s fine with guys like us.”

“I know that, but that’s why we’re hiding right? I mean, we can still do this. I can still be famous, and I can still be with you. I can do both.”

Spencer heaves, and he has to throw up, so he does, on the floor of Lolo’s limo.

“Oh, Spence, bro,” Billy pats his back.

Spencer sobs, sobs on Billy’s leg.

“I don’t want you to forget me, Billy,” he says. “You’re all I have.”

“Not true,” Billy says. “Not true, Spencer. If I leave you, there are loads of people who’ll still love you.”

Spencer grunts.

“Oh Jesus, Billy. You are so stupid.” Spencer shouts, “Adrian! Open the door, Adrian! Lolo! We’re done here!”

He hears the click of the lock.

Spencer leaves. Right now, more than anything, he wants to get away from Billy. He hears a shout for him, from Billy, but he ignores it. If he wants Spencer back, he’ll have to get out of the damn car and face the swarm of fans waiting to tackle him.

Spencer walks, folding his arms around himself, tugging his jacket.

He gets to thinking, while he’s on the well-maintained sidewalk, walking to who-knows-where. He thinks about Lolo, and Billy.

He realizes that this can’t go on.

Lolo isn’t the one who can ruin Billy’s career with a snap of a finger.

It’s him.

+

He spends days pretending to be okay. He lets Billy hook an arm around his shoulders. He lets Billy into his room, to play video games, to shoot him singing, while a tall, Japanese woman shoots them from the corner.

He has to sit on a special armchair that’s been set up for their confessionals.

“Billy’s always been my best friend,” he says. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“Our favorite pastime? Well, dude, before he was famous, I’d take videos of him singing, for my MeTube page. I could show you guys sometime.”

“Am I jealous? Of course I am. Can’t help being a little jealous, man. I mean, he’s got the fame, and the money, and the _girls_. Jesus, the girls.”

“No, he’s not dating anyone. Billy doesn’t do relationships. He’s more of a casual fling guy. But you probably know that already.”

“I don’t think I can answer that question.”

“Billy in one word? I dunno, awesome? What do you want me to say?”

“Everybody loves Billy, me included. That’s a given.”

“I have no idea, okay? Next question, please?”

It’s the summer.

The heat is almost unbearable. Every time Spencer sleeps, he’s uncomfortable, groggy, and he misses feeling at ease, feeling someone else’s skin grinding into him.

Billy hasn’t been home for two days. He’s up at the Hamptons, playing at beaches for his loyal bikini-clad fanbase.

That night, Spencer sleeps, and he wonders how long he can keep this up. That night, Spencer wakes up after only three hours of sleep. He wakes up because he feels a weight land right next to him. A hand rests on Spencer’s leg, and a voice sweeps through his ear.

“Spencer, Spencer, brotien,” Billy whispers. “Up for some smooching?”

Billy is propped up on his elbow. Spencer reaches for his head. He grabs Billy’s hair and pulls him down for a kiss.

Then, it dawns on him that he has to pull away. “What about the cameras?”

Billy grins, rubs his nose against Spencer’s nose, gives Spencer a quick kiss. “I made them scram for the day.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Then you have to fuck me, Billy. Right now. I can’t take it anymore.”

Billy runs a hand up Spencer’s leg, and Spencer arches up. Spencer slips a hand into Billy’s pants. He feels Billy’s cock, hard around his fingers.

Spencer whines in Billy’s ear, “I need it, I need it, I need it.”

They end up naked on their sides, Billy pushing in from behind. Billy holds a hand over Spencer’s mouth when Spencer almost screams. Billy bites Spencer’s neck, and it hurts.

Spencer tries turning his head, tries to catch Billy’s lips. Billy thrusts harder and harder and licks Spencer’s cheek. Spencer tries again to catch Billy’s lips, and this time Billy meets him.

“Will you ride me, Spence?” Billy asks him, and Spencer nods, nods, and nods.

He tilts his neck when he manages to push it all inside him. Billy’s holding his hips. Spencer sees that look on his face, like he’s about to cry.

“Dude, don’t you dare cry,” Spencer says, trying to laugh, trying not to cry, trying to go faster around Billy’s cock.

“I really missed you, Spence. I really did. I still do, even though—ah—“ Spencer tries shutting him up by moving faster. “Ah—Spence, I still miss you—ah—even though you’re here. I don’t know—ah—Spence—“

“Don’t, Billy. Just stop. Stop talking.”

They finish, and Spencer drops on Billy, face flat on his chest. Tears escape his eyes as he grabs on to Billy’s sides.

“Is this it, Spence? Are we saying goodbye?”

“We’ll have to, sometime. You know we do.”

“Why do we have to? We don’t have to, Spence. I can come out, and it’ll be fine. There’s gonna be some drama, but it’ll be okay.”

He bangs his fist on the bed. “No, it won’t be.”

“I don’t want to, Spence. I don’t want to.” Billy wraps his arms around Spencer’s back, grips tight. “Don’t make me do it. You’re gonna kill me.”

“It’ll happen sooner or later, Billy. It will. So it’s better if this ends now.”

“No, no, no, no, no.” Billy hugs him tighter, and it breaks Spencer’s heart. Spencer tells him it’ll be okay. Spencer lifts himself up and he sees Billy’s face, pinched up, broken. He holds Billy’s cheeks, rubs a finger at Billy’s tears, tells him it’s okay. This is his choice, and this is for the best, and this will make them happier, in the long run. Billy pleads to him, again and again. Spencer kisses him, to keep him quiet.

He has Billy inside him, one last time. Billy keeps his arms around him, while Spencer rides him. Spencer kisses him, he cries, and he says, “It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay, I’ll always love you, Billy. So it’s gonna be okay.”

+

He has a panic attack the next day, when he wakes up, when he doesn’t see Billy there.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t feel his legs.

“Mama!” he shouts, as loud as he could. He’s crying, hands over his eyes. He can’t stop.

She doesn’t come, and Spencer still can’t breathe.

Jessica comes, and she looks at him, open-mouthed, surprised at first, but then she rushes to his bed to take him in her arms.

“Oh, Jesus, Spence—“ She lifts Spencer’s head onto her neck. “ _Mom_!” she shouts, so loud Spencer’s ears hurt.

His mother arrives, and she starts to panic, hands shaking in the air. “W—Jess—Spence—“

“Oh my god, mom. You are so useless. Get him a fucking drink!”

Jane goes, comes back, and gives him something to drink. He swallows a capsule. She stands by the bed while he drinks, and she asks him if he’s okay. He says he isn’t, he can’t be. Jessica mutters that she’ll beat Billy up. She will. She swears.

“Don’t,” Spencer breathes.

Spencer tells them, tells them everything. He can’t keep it bottled up anymore. “I had to let him go, ma,” he says, crying onto Jessica’s breasts. “I had to.”

He starts heaving again, and his face screws up. He bites his tongue, and he sobs.

“How do I make it okay?” Spencer pleads.

Jessica can’t answer him, and his mother can’t either.

“Mom!” Jessica screams. “Do something!”

“What am I—Spence, everything’s—Hell, I don’t know what to say, Jessica. What am I supposed to say?”

Spencer hears footsteps. “I’ll take care of this,” he hears someone say, to his mom, to Jessica. There’s someone who comes in, who quiets him down. Jessica and Jane marvel at her, stare at her, while she calmly sits back on the bed, opens her arms, and asks Jessica to give Spencer to her.

“Spency, Spency, don’t cry,” she whispers, while Spencer smells her, the papaya and the Chanel No. 5.

Melissa says she’ll make everything right. He doesn’t have to stay here, if he doesn’t want to. They can always find somewhere else. She’ll find somewhere, somewhere he doesn’t have to see him. “Mama Cobra’s gonna make everything go away,” she says.

Spencer cries on Billy’s mother, feels her hair grazing his face. He thanks her. “I love him so much,” he says, and then she shushes him, tells him to forget about that boy. There are loads of fish in the sea. There’s only one Billy, but you don’t need him to be happy.

She’s going to make it right, and he believes her. He has to.


	2. Chapter 2

“You know what? You guys can go fuck yourselves.”

This is the last thing Spencer tells the camera crew before he leaves the mansion for good.

+

“They never aired that part,” Billy says.

“Well, duh.”

+

At his new school, he forces himself to make new friends. He has to if he wants to make more films. He doesn’t have the money to hire actors, so he has to take anyone who’ll do it for free. New Yorkers are not easy, he discovers, but Spencer tries, and he makes a few pals.

He enters some of his old stuff into juvenile film contests. They get shortlisted. He never wins anything.

He’s thinking of giving up his dream, but what stops him is the thought of what Billy would say, and how Billy would look at him if he said he’d quit.

Spencer lives with Jessica, in a tight, economical apartment with purple walls. “Someone has to look after you,” is her remark, on why she had to go with him.

He feels like a jerk, because Jessica’s being too kind to him, and he hasn’t done anything for her. She moved schools; she gave up her place in the martial arts team. She did all that just so she could keep a close eye on Spencer.

“I’m a freshman,” she tells him. “I can easily make new friends.”

She’s taller than him. Spencer thinks she can pass for an 18-year-old. She’s dyed her hair with blue streaks, making her looks as loud as her voice. She no longer ties her hair. Instead, she has it down in curls, makes it look like a tidal wave. Every day, she wears these shorts that show off almost the whole length of her legs. She wears these sweaters that can almost pass as dresses on her figure. Spencer lets her be; he’s not going all big brother-y on her. He’s the one who needs supervision.

“You’re going to film school, aren’t you?” she asks him, one night, while she lies down on the trundle bed below Spencer’s taller bed.

“If mom and dad let me,” he says, simply. Spencer wants to sleep, though it’s only 9:30. He’s curled up, and he doesn’t want to talk.

“Of course they will, shithead. They love all that special effects shit you do,” she says.

“You have a great way with words, Jess.”

“Well, shithead, I’ll support whatever the fuck you want to do.”

Spencer has to laugh. “Are seriously just fifteen?” he says.

He can tell Jessica’s using the pause to roll her eyes.

“Tomorrow’s yet another day, asswipe. Yet another day to try and forget. Yet another day towards a spotless mind.”

“So you’re a poet now?”

“I’ve always loved writing, Spencer. You’d know that if you paid any attention to anyone besides, well, you-know-who.”

“Yeah, I know.” She’s right. She’s completely right.

Spencer extends an arm, reaches his hand out, without looking at her. She takes it, grips his hand firmly. “Thank you being here,” he says.

“You’re more than welcome, shithead.”

+

Spencer dyes his hair, a flaming auburn red. He likes it. It’s symbolical.

He goes a little crazy, because it’s pretty impossible to forget about a boy whose face he sees at every single bus stop. He goes crazy and he does so completely aware of what he’s doing.

At college, he pretends he doesn’t have a major. He gets into a film school, but he decides not to take seriously, not right now, because that wouldn’t be any fun.

But he’s not quitting. He really isn’t.

He’s just taking a break.

There’s this Brazilian male model, Rodrigo, who he meets at a bar. He starts having sex with him. For a whole week, he’s practically living in Rodrigo’s tiny, minimalist apartment with its all-square furniture. He lets Rodrigo fuck him on the floor, against the door, against the sink. They do it with Spencer on his hind legs, on all fours, in missionary mode. Rodrigo’s pretty hot, Spencer thinks. His abs are what people would describe as “chiseling.”

It doesn’t last, though. He gets tired of him.

He moves on to Simon, the hot gay hipster collegiate he meets at one of his classes. Simon had been eyeing Spencer ever since he dyed his hair. Spencer goes up to him one day, gets them alone together, and Spencer says, “Wanna fuck?” Sex with him is subpar, but it’s like whatever to Spencer. Sex is sex, and he doesn’t care.

He has sex with Simon for two weeks. Longer than Rodrigo, even though his ass was not as satisfied.

Then, Spencer moves on to Peter, and then he moves on to Yamato, to Jerome, to Hans, to the Patinjali twins (one after the other), and then to someone he doesn’t bother getting a name from.

He tries making a sex tape, with one of the twins, but he cringes at how he looks on camera. It doesn’t get him hot at all.

Another day, another walk of shame, and Spencer struggles to unlock his apartment door. His body hurts pretty badly, hung-over and thoroughly fucked.

Someone opens the door for him: a guy he doesn’t recognize – black hair, nice cheekbones. They stand face to face, the guy looking wide-eyed and shocked, his hair in a mess.

“And who are you supposed to be?” Spencer says.

“I—I was just—uh—leaving—“ He runs, and from inside the apartment, Spencer hears some pretty loud laughter.

Spencer sees Jessica sitting on stool by a countertop, grin on her face, her flaming auburn hair tied in a ponytail (fun fact: they had their hair dyed together when their mother came to visit).

“Such a dork,” she laughs.

“Who the hell was that?” Spencer closes the door behind him, walks up to where Jessica is and grabs his own stool.

Jessica gets a jar of peanut butter and starts lathering some biscuits that she has set down on a plate. Spencer takes one and starts nibbling. Jessica says, “Just some guy. Name’s Jacob. He’s on the team with me.”

“Oh,” Spencer muses. “Your boyfriend?”

“Hardly,” she says. “Just another great fuck.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t be fucking around like that, at your age.”

They pause, look at each other, stare for a few seconds.

They both turn pink, and they both burst into laughter.

“Oh my God, you almost had me going there, shithead.” Jessica waves a hand and puts another hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He grabs his stomach, laughing some more.

Spencer spends the day watching movies with his sister. They prop themselves up, cross-legged, on their yellow sofa. Jessica eats a whole can of ice cream while Spencer has a bowl of popcorn to himself.

“Where were you last night?” Jessica asks, while they watch Woody Harrelson kill some zombies in a convenience store.

“Party, then uh, I went home with this guy named—uh—I think it was Salim? Or was it Salvador? I have no idea.” Spencer crunches on his popcorn, and then he has an epiphany, “No! Wait! It wasn’t Salim. Not Salvador either. Pete. It was Pete. I’m sure now. Pete with the really hairy legs.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, positive.”

Jessica smirks and chuckles. She slips the spoon into her mouth, gulps some ice cream down, before she sighs.

After watching Zombieland, they watch an old black and white movie: Strangers on a Train. It’s film noir, and it’s nicely shot. After that, they watch this weird Lars Von Trier film about this other planet hitting the Earth and this girl who gets depressed for no reason on her wedding day. They watch Melancholia, they cry, and then they watch High School Musical 3 to lighten the mood.

They dance to I Want it All, Jessica as fabulous Sharpay and Spencer as sidekick Ryan. They sing it like they mean it. They grab pink hats, plush coats, and pile themselves in other ridiculous clothing. They jump, do jazz hands and everything. Spencer has his tripod and camera set up, to film them, the first time he’s done so in months.

He won’t be uploading anything, because the only people who visit his MeTube page are crazed fans researching on Billy’s past.

They get tired of movies, as the day starts to wane. Spencer rests his eyes on the couch, on Jessica’s lap, though he’s still awake. Jessica watches the evening news. There was some sort of hullabaloo in Brooklyn, some lazy white guys breaking into a closed convenience store to steal all the beer.

The news cuts, segues to showbiz. Halle Berry has agreed yet again to play Storm on X-Men. Jennifer Aniston gets back together with John Mayer. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt adopt another baby. Billy Joe Cobra—

Jessica changes the channel.

“What? What was that? What’s with Billy Joe Cobra?” Spencer doesn't ever remember a single time he’s said Billy’s full name, and it feels weird on his tongue.

“N—Nothing,” Jessica says. Spencer tries getting the remote from her. She struggles, “Hey, c’mon. Tyra Banks is about to eliminate another statuesque beauty.”

Spencer sees the news just in time, just before it cuts.

Billy Joe Cobra moves in with girlfriend Marina Strong, the six-foot-two British blonde beauty and fellow pop sensation. The couple was seen leaving their townhouse at 1PM today.

There’s a picture of them holding hands. Billy, dressed in a skull tank top and purple skinny jeans, has a cigarette in his mouth. Marina, dressed in a yellow sundress, has chewing gum in hers.

“Cute,” Spencer says, before he stands up and runs for the bedroom.

He drops on the floor, against the door. Jessica bangs on the wood and screams at him to open up.

“I’m okay, Jessica,” he says, though he really isn’t. He’s not having a panic attack; he’s never had one since that one awful morning. He’s just in shock. He needs to be alone.

He’s never been surer that he made right choice, by cutting things off with Billy. Billy’s happy, with a beautiful girl and a beautiful house. They’re young, yes, but they’ll probably be married in a year’s time. They’ll probably adopt a lot of babies from China and Africa, as a part of their white savior, superstar complex.

“Oh God,” Spencer rubs his face onto his hands. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

He’s never been surer. It’s totally true.

+

He dresses to kill. He dresses in his blazer with splattered colors, his white shirt, and his tight leather pants. He blends with the strobe light, mostly red and purple. A guy bites on his ear, at random, and he rolls his eyes.

Neck stretched, hands smoothing through his hair, Spencer rocks himself through the floor. His head feels like wind and his feet feel like jelly.

He just dances, all night, refuses anyone’s advances.

He’s alone, and that’s how he likes it.

“Fuck off!” he screams, at the guy who tries slipping his fingers into his shirt.

And then Spencer laughs, because the guy tells him he’s crazy.

“Yo, broski, you are so right. I am fucking crazy.”

And he dances, more more more.

He’s untouchable. He’s powerful. He feels heavily subjected to the male gaze. He loves it. He loves that they want him but can’t do anything to him. He’s a fucking star. He’s a fucking sensation.

+

Perhaps, good things just aren’t for him.

Perhaps, the email he’s looking at is a sign that he should just go ahead and die in some sleazy nightclub, because the world hates him.

Getting an email from Lolo Callory does not give off a good smell at all. And it only reeks even more that she’s actually asking him to this job for her.

_Hey, Spencer._

She doesn’t even try to be formal.

She’s asking him to help her launch her clothing line. She needs someone to shoot a commercial – someone who’ll do it for a small stipend.

She has everything set: the date, the time, and the venue. Apparently, she’s well aware that he’s in New York.

He doesn’t know what to say.

“Take it,” Jessica tells him. “What have you got to lose?”

“My dignity?”

“A cliché answer, Spencer my shithead.” Jessica ruffles his hair. “C’mon, it’s not like you’re gonna be the model or anything.”

Spencer ponders on it. He ponders on it for a few hours while he’s in class, only half-listening to the lecture about Karl Marx.

 _I’d be honored_ , he types in. _I’ll meet you there_. He makes his message to her is as informal as hers. He’s not about to make himself look like a dork.

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

“What? What do you mean? I don’t need to dress up for this.”

Jessica rolls her eyes. “If you say so.”

Spencer ends up dressing up – in a pastel blue button-up and pleated trousers.

At three in the afternoon, he arrives at the address Lolo specified. The place is a parking lot by an abandoned building. There’s a yellow pickup truck set up right by a wall of graffiti; the thing looks like it’s been in a crash.

Lolo’s there, with Adrian, some assistants, racks of leather clothing, a trailer, and lighting equipment. Spencer sees a video camera on a table, one that looks much better than his, so he hides the one he brought.

She barely acknowledges him when he arrives. She screams, “Adrian! Get the models up here! We’re about to start!”

She’s wearing a white silk dress that flows till her knees. Her hair is tied in the way that it always is. Her nails are bright and pink, like they always have.

Lolo hands Spencer the camera, and then she runs to her assistants, dictates to them which clothes will be used first.

Spencer’s familiar with the type of camera, so he figures out how to use it easily. He proceeds to watch Lolo yelling at some guys in all black, telling them “the lights should hit the girl’s face, when—“ He wonders, briefly, why he even agreed to this; he’s not even entirely sure what the theme’s supposed to be. He just got some vague instructions in Lolo’s reply to his email.

“Oh God, Spencer, sorry for the mess,” Lolo tells him, when she gets back. Spencer’s shocked, by her courteousness.

“Oh—Yeah, Lolo—Uh—“

“Adrian!” Lolo shouts, looking behind her. “Where are the fucking models?”

Adrian comes out of the trailer with a thin woman dressed in a lace top, a leather tube, and high stilettos, her hair heavily greased and straightened, tied into a ponytail. Beside her is a man wearing only a black beanie and brown leather shorts, showing off his abs and his leg hair.

“That’s Kimiko,” Lolo points to the girl. “And that’s Rodrigo,” she points to the boy.

Spencer stops for a moment, and then he studies the guy’s face, and his abs.

“Oh, dear.”

“What? Something wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Spencer gulps. From where he’s standing by the pickup truck, Rodrigo gives him a look with an arched eyebrow. To Spencer’s surprise, Rodrigo sends him a flying kiss.

The shoot goes well, with Lolo’s very specific direction. It involves a lot of walking and slight movements. It involves Kimiko pretending to force her heel on Rodrigo who’s lying on the ground. The models are directed not to look cute. They have to look evil. They have to embody dark alleyways and lovers in crime.

At one point, the models have to kiss. At one point, Spencer has to zoom in on only their faces. He feels uncomfortable looking at Rodrigo straight in the eye. He’s seen this look before, and while he’s not turned on anymore, it still stresses him out.

“That’s a wrap!” Lolo shouts, at seven in the evening.

Spencer’s sweating. He feels accomplished when they start scanning the takes on Lolo’s laptop computer. The shots are nice. He got the right angles for the models’ faces and their contortions.

“Great job, Wright,” Lolo tells him, with a shake of the hand.

Spencer laughs. “You’re being unbelievably nice to me, Callory,” he says, shaking his head. “I do not get it.”

“You’re still a fucking loser, Wright.” She shrugs. “But you’ve got some skill. So hired you.”

He blushes.

“Now, as soon as I get my team to edit the video, I’ll send you a copy.”

“Y—Yeah, thanks, Lolo.”

“And I want you to be there at the unveiling.”

Spencer nods. He asks her where it is, and then she yells, “Adrian! Spencer’s invitation! Give me it!”

“Oh—You don’t—“

Adrian comes in a flash, with a bright red card in his hand, which he immediately hands to Spencer.

“You have to be there,” Lolo says. “Or else.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Spencer says.

He opens the invitation.

_You are totally invited to the launch of my fashion line: Madame Callory._

_Strip off your pink, your whites, and your navy blues, because this party will be anything but teenybopper._

_Either you come or you come._

_Regards,  
The Fabulous Madame Callory_

“This is—persuasive,” Spencer tells her.

She laughs at him, and then she says they should pack up, leave, because they’ve only got half an hour before they’ll be asked to leave.

He avoids seeing Rodrigo, because he’s never one to deal with past sexual partners. He rushes his packing, bids Lolo farewell, and runs for a cab.

+

Once again, he asks Jessica for much-needed help, because yet again, he cannot make a decision.

“Oh, Jesus, shithead,” she says, stretched out on the couch, while he’s pacing around the apartment.

“That’s not an answer, Jessica. Should I go or not?”

“Go. Don’t go. I don’t fucking care!”

“You’re supposed to care!”

“Then—“ She groans, buries her head in a pillow for a few seconds before she glares back at him. “Spence. Do you know what I think? I think you should start taking college seriously. I think you should stop skipping your fucking classes. I think—I think—“ Spencer pouts. “I think you should just go to the fucking party, because it really looks like you want to.”

He hugs her, tight, and tells her he’s oh so grateful.

+

Spencer doesn’t expect Lolo’s party to be a mini high school reunion. He doesn’t understand how she’s still even in touch with all these people.

When someone calls for him, he’s sitting by himself by a high round table, drinking a free cocktail the waiter gave him.

“Oh my God! Spencer!”

Spencer turns around, and he double takes. He smiles at who he sees walking to him.

“Shani!” He waves, and Shanilla rushes to him, grinning, arms circling him in a hug.

“You dyed your hair!”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You look—oh my God, Spence—what’s with all this—this leather? You look hot.”

“Do I?” He meant to. “Thanks.” He laughs.

“How the fuck are you, you fucking loser?”

Spencer has to cover his mouth to giggle. “Watch the language, Shani.”

“No, but seriously Spencer. How are you?”

“I’m seriously fine, Shanilla.” Spencer flashes her his best smile, and she smiles back. She tells him she’s really glad to see him, after all this time. She doesn’t ask about Billy. Instead, she asks about Spencer and college. There isn’t much Spencer can tell her.

The party goes on, neon lights alternate, and Spencer starts feeling windy and nostalgic. He’s dancing, twirling and bumping with Shanilla, and then with Rajeev, who screams as soon as he lays eyes on Spencer. The people around are minding their own business. Stevie’s the designated DJ. Kleet is showing his biceps to these three girls who Spencer could never name. Mallory is having conversation and a cocktail with her old posse.

He sees fashion reporters standing by the stage. He sees Lolo talking to them, answering some pre-launch questions.

The models start walking on the stage, more like a pageant than a fashion show. The women are all in lean and mean clothing, all leather-bound, all bust flaunting. The men are mostly shirtless, except for one who’s in a white shirt, Rodrigo. Spencer wonders why, though he understands when Rodrigo gets to the center of the stage and strips off his shirt.

And so it goes: the unveiling ends, and Lolo is applauded. The journalists rush to her for questions. Everyone else is left to get the party re-started.

The strobe lights blare in Spencer’s eyes as he looks to the ceiling. He shuts his eyelids and he sways around, arms gliding in the air.

Spencer feels like he’s in his element. He grabs on to a few guys from high school, and they’re all, “yo, dude, didn’t know you were gay. Yo, dude, you’re pretty hot.” He grinds with them, while Shanilla’s laughing at him, drunk.

Someone grabs his ass, and Spencer lets him, doesn’t care.

“Hey, lover.”

“Oh.” Spencer doesn’t expect it, but he manages to smile. “Hey, R _rrrr_ odrigo.”

He starts making out with him, in the middle of the dance floor.

“You still taste fucking nice,” Rodrigo whispers to him.

“Shut up, jerk. Just shut up.”

They make out, more and more, sloppier and sloppier, but Spencer doesn’t feel anything. He pushes harder, grabs on to his cheeks; he wants to feel Rodrigo in his veins. He wants to feel like trembling, like whining, like moaning out someone’s name.

But.

“Spencer.”

He thinks it’s Billy, but it isn’t. It’s still Rodrigo, who’s looking at him, brooding.

He almost feels like crying. Rodrigo tries to lick his lips open, and Spencer lets him, just so he can think of something else.

Lolo’s voice on the microphone is muffled in his ears, but he hears her still, “Guys, you totally have to, like, gather around for my special guest.”

Rodrigo bites his neck, and Spencer buries his fingers in the man’s scalp. He gasps while Rodrigo sucks his sweat. He can no longer hear what Lolo’s saying. His ears are completely blank.

Drunk is what he is. Drunk on that vodka bottle Shanilla handed him. Drunk on the chocolates the waiters are feeding them. Drunk on the sick jam that was playing before everything quieted down for Lolo’s special guest.

The only thing that gets his attention is the feedback from the microphone making his ears throb.

“Oh, Jesus.” He has to cover his ears.

The sound mixes with a strum of an electric guitar.

The voice on the microphone is gruff and angry.

“Just a tiny fucking bit of technical fucking difficulties up here, my fucking bros,” he says. “Fucking fuck. Ack, fuck.” The feedback reverberates, making everyone shrink.

Of course, Spencer knows who it is just from the sound of his voice. There’s no way he could’ve missed it.

When their eyes meet, Spencer swallows. Billy’s arms fall to his sides and he stops fumbling with the microphone stand. His eyes roar at Spencer like thunder, like disaster just waiting to happen. Everyone looks around, murmuring. Spencer looks only at Billy, and he doesn’t pay attention to how Rodrigo’s tugging his jacket sleeve.

“Spencer?” he hears someone say.

Billy chews on his lip before he lowers his head. His guitar is ready, and the system’s been spruced up.

“Okay, brotistas! Heyhey, ladies and bros!” Billy’s smile is automatic. “My name is—“

“We know who you are!” The crowd screams, and then girls start wailing when Billy winks and says, “Well of course you do. Beverly Hills born and raised, am I right?”

Then comes the twang of the guitar. And then, the movement of his lips. And then, the jagged but sweet tone of his voice.

Spencer wants to throw up.

This is probably why Lolo made him come. To make him suffer. She always had it out for him. That’s right. Of course.

He runs. He runs for the bathroom. He runs and bumps Rodrigo and Rajeev and Shanilla and—He doesn’t give a single shit about what any of them have to say.

He locks himself in a stall. He stands against its entrance, freezes.

Billy’s voice can still be heard from where he is.

“Fuck, shit,” Spencer whispers, under his breath. “Fuck.”

He wants everything to stop.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, goddammit—“ His hands slap on his face. “Goddammit, Billy.”

“Spencer?”

Spencer winces at her voice. “Get the fuck out, Lolo. This is the men’s room.”

“I’m gonna do what I want, dork,” she says.

“So what exactly _do_ you want, huh? You wanna ruin my life? Because you’re kind of doing it right now.”

“Spence—“

“Shut up!”

“I’m fucking trying to tell you something.” She bangs on a stall, though it’s not his.

“What could you possibly say, Lolo?”

“I only invited you to the party because Billy asked me to, okay? I’m not trying to ruin your life!”

“Since when did you listen to what Billy says?”

“Since—I dunno—Since a long time ago!”

“Just—Just get out!”

She groans. “Oh Jesus Christ,” she says.

Spencer hears the bang on the door. He’s alone. He’s alone and he can still hear Billy’s fucking voice.

+

He doesn’t know why he stays.

Or, rather, he does know, but he can’t fathom why he’d think it’d be a good idea.

There’s a fifty percent chance Billy will look for him here, in the bathroom, because Lolo will tell him for sure. There’s a chance that he can talk to him, alone.

“Oh, fuck, what the fuck am I thinking.”

He exits the stall and leans down on the sink. He looks at himself in the mirror.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he tells himself. “This is not you, Spencer Wright. You’re a strong, attractive guy. You do not need him anymore. You don’t.”

He splashes water onto his face.

“I’m seriously gonna die.” He curses, multiple times, under his breath. He mumbles Billy’s name.

He decides to stay, standing by the sink, to wait, for ten more minutes. The music has come and gone.

The door opens, and Spencer’s heart stops.

Billy’s sweating, and he looks like he’s been crying. He stands at the doorway in his ridiculous clothing, staring at Spencer like a lost puppy.

“Spencer,” he says. “You’re still here.”

“Damn right I am.”

“Your hair is red.”

“Observant.”

“Have you been—uh—been doing good, bro—“

“Don’t you dare call me bro.”

Billy visibly gulps. Spencer too feels a lump in his throat.

“Why are you still here, Spencer?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Billy bites his lip.

“Don’t act like you’re surprised, Billy Joe Cobra. Of course I’d want to talk to you. Of course I would.” Spencer walks up to him.

Initially, he plans to scream at his face, but the nearer he gets, the more he can see him, smell him, the more he feels like clamming up.

“So now, we talk.”

“Okay.”

“So let’s talk.”

“Yeah.”

“What do we talk about?”

“I don’t know, Spence.”

“Okay—“ Spencer lowers his head, breathes, “Okay—So—You’ve been doing good? Moved in with your girlfriend?”

“Marina’s not my girlfriend.”

“Don’t patronize me, Billy. I know she is. It’s obvious, from the way you look at her.”

“How do I look at her?”

“Like how you looked at me, before, a long time ago.”

“It wasn’t that long ago.”

“Sure it is. It’s ancient history.”

“Okay, okay.”

Spencer notices how Billy’s eyes dart, down to his lips. Spencer notices how Billy’s fists are closed and how his forehead is tracked with sweat. Spencer can smell him, and it’s horrible. It’s so horrible.

“It’s so hard—“ Billy starts, his voice breaking.

“What, Billy?”

“It’s so hard to think of something to say.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, it is. Isn’t it?”

Billy lifts his arm, and he looks at Spencer, apprehensive. His hand is almost touching Spencer’s jacket sleeve.

“Can I?” Billy asks, and Spencer nods.

Billy touches the sleeve, fingers it. His other arm touches Spencer’s elbow. “Spencer,” Billy says. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“It’s been so long.”

“It has.”

“What are we supposed to do, Spence?” Billy looks him straight in the eye. Spencer stares back. He’s trying his best not to let his mouth quiver.

Spencer gulps.

“Let’s get out of here.”

+

Jessica stands at the living room. She’s silent, her eyes transfixed, on Billy. Billy—sans disguise: hat, glasses and coat—tells Jessica it’s nice seeing her again. He tells her, “You look all grown up, dude.”

Jessica rolls her eyes. “Seriously, Spencer?”

Spencer grabs her arm and hauls her into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Could you go? Please? I want—Billy wants—“

She sighs. “This is a bad decision, brother,” she says. “When he walks out that door, your heart is gonna fucking break.”

“I know, but just—Let me talk to him. I just want to talk to him, Jess. That’s it. I just fucking want to talk.”

“Spence—“

“Please, Jess.”

She lets out a sound from the back of her throat.

She gives in, and Spencer tells her he’ll be grateful forever. She says she’ll be staying with a friend tonight, but she’ll be back first thing in the morning. “I know how this’ll turn out, shithead. I know you won’t take it well.”

“I definitely won’t.”

Billy’s looking around the side tables in the living room, when Spencer returns. Jessica leaves without saying a word. Billy stares at the door, while Jessica slams it shut.

There’s a pause, first. There’s a pause, and then: “Why aren’t there pictures of me here?” Billy says.

“Wh—“

“We had loads of pictures together. Where are they?”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow. “Why the fuck would I do that to myself?” he says.

“Dude, _why_?” Billy opens his arms. “Because, Spence. Because we’ve been practically married since grade school.”

Spencer has to grit his teeth so he wouldn’t sound mean, so he could control himself from going into a rage.

“Oh, Billy. Don’t flatter yourself.” He hardens his gaze. “I can see right through you. You’re a dick. You’re a dick and you’re just fucking upset that I don’t worship you anymore.” He chuckles. “Typical BJC, yeah?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you right back.”

Billy’s lips tighten. “This was a mistake—wasn’t it?” He scratches his head and his eyes look like they’re burning.

“No, I don’t think it was mistake, Billy. I don’t think so.”

“Well—“ He grunts, and he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face. “I don't either.”

Spencer chews on the inside of his lip. He feels the need to sit down, so he does, on the couch. Billy follows him, sits right beside him.

The clock ticks. The refrigerator hums. Billy breathes. Spencer stares into space. He knows Billy’s looking at him; of course he does.

The clock ticks, again. The refrigerator hums. Billy’s breath is louder in Spencer’s ears.

“I thought bringing you here would help me think of something to say,” he says.

“Hey, bro, could you look at me? Please? Just look me, for a minute. I need you to look.”

Spencer does, and his jaw tightens. “Yes?” he says, and Billy licks his lips.

Billy kisses him. He rests his hands on Spencer’s cheeks. He kisses Spencer just like how he kissed him before, wet and unyielding. Spencer knows this. He knows this mouth. He knows how it works. He knows how it curves and how it moves. Spencer opens up for Billy, and he swings his tongue, just to get more of that familiar taste, of Billy’s saliva.

“Billy—“ He breathes. “Billy—“ He hooks his arms around Billy’s shoulders. “Billy, stop—“ He doesn’t mean it.

“No.”

“Billy—“ Spencer bites him. “Billy—“ He can’t breathe. “Billy, I missed you.”

There’s so much he needs to say. There’s so much he wants to ask. Can you stay? Please? Can you stay forever? Can you leave? Can you leave now before everything turns to shit? Please?

“I—“ He has to stop and breathe, for a second. “I’m not having sex with you, Billy. We shouldn’t.”

“It’s okay—“ A kiss. “It’s okay, Spence. I’m okay with just—“ Again, a kiss. “This.”

Spencer lets his lips quiver.

Billy’s hands are still on his cheeks. Spencer lifts his arm and presses his own hand onto Billy’s. His eyes close.

“I want to sleep with you, tonight,” Billy says. “Just sleep. If that’s okay.”

“Sure, of course.”

Spencer leads him there, to his room. He holds Billy’s hand and he guides him to the bed.

They sit, first, kissing each other.

“Wait—“ Spencer says, pressing his hands on Billy’s chest. He smiles, says, “I’ll change.”

At his dresser, he stops and he says, “Don’t look.” He hears Billy groan, and it makes Spencer laugh.

He slips off his garments, one by one, and in a way, he does hope Billy’s looking. Spencer puts on an old t-shirt and loose boxer shorts.

He grabs some clothes that he thinks are big on him.

“Here,” Spencer says. “You change too.”

“I know that shirt,” Billy says, while taking the clothes. “You wore that on one of our—dates, before.”

“I know,” Spencer says, smiling and shrugging. “But it’s pretty worn out now, so I just wear it to bed.”

“Cool.” Billy takes off his shirt and his pants right in front of Spencer, exposing his tight yellow briefs, a la Spongebob Squarepants.

Spencer doesn’t find it arousing. Rather, he finds it funny. He finds it very, very Billy.

Billy laughs, “You know me, brotien. I love me some Spongebob.” He slips on the t-shirt and the shorts.

“I know you do,” Spencer says, sitting down and circling his arms around Billy’s neck.

They’re kissing again. They both smile into it.

“It’s almost like nothing happened,” Spencer says.

“Let’s not think about that, yeah?” Billy says, while he pulls Spencer down to lie back.

Billy cuddles him. Billy presses his nose down to Spencer’s scalp.

“This is good,” Billy says.

Spencer can only agree. He has a hand clutching on to Billy’s chest. He tries gazing up to see Billy’s face adorned with moonlight from the window. It makes him smile.

“I’m gonna die in the morning,” Billy says.

“I know,” Spencer says. “But I guess—for now—We should just—“

“Stop caring.”

“Yeah.”

Billy makes Spencer lie on his back. He props himself up. He touches Spencer’s face.

“Spencer,” he says. “You look so different, man.”

He thumbs through Spencer’s cheeks, and then he pinches Spencer’s nose. He holds Spencer’s hair up and he rubs at Spencer’s forehead. He looks like he’s curious, like he’s charting new territory.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asks, Billy still thumbing through the skin of Spencer’s face.

“I just love this fucking face,” Billy says.

“Hm,” Spencer muses. He lifts his hands to Billy’s cheeks, pinches them. “Well your face isn’t half bad either, Mr. Superstar.”

“Not a superstar. Not yet.”

“Oh please, you’ve got it all.” He lifts his head, gives a Billy a quick kiss to make sure he isn’t offended. “Billy—You’ve got multi-million dollar record sales, for fuck’s sake. And you’ve got that sensational girlfriend you’re kind of cheating on.”

“I told you, Spence. Marina’s not my girlfriend.” He kisses Spencer. “It’s all a publicity thing. Our managers thought it’d be good for us, you know.”

“I don’t think I should believe you, Billy.” He gives Billy yet another kiss.

“Spencer—“ His fingers harden on Spencer’s cheeks. “Spencer, I’m gay. She’s gay. We’re kind of both gay.”

“How would you know that?”

“She’s my best friend, kind of, right now. Well, she’s pretty much my only real friend, besides momma, and uh—“

“Lolo?”

“About that—“

“No need to explain.” He pulls Billy down via arm hooks. Spencer believes him. How can he not? It’s Billy. And he wouldn’t lie to him.

“I have to ask though,” Billy says, released from another kiss. “Who was that guy at the party? Your boyfriend? If he is, I’m okay with that. I mean—no—I’m not. Of course I don’t want you to have a boyfriend—I mean—You should—I don’t—I never—“

Spencer giggles. “He was just some random guy,” he says. “No one’s beaten you yet, jerk.”

“Okay, good.”

And then they’re back to each other’s mouths. Still, Billy tastes like peanut butter. Still, Billy smells like perfume, and apples, and nuts. But, he’s softer than Spencer remembered. He’s got a bit of a belly and a bit of paunch in his arms. Spencer loves it.

The whole night, Billy’s telling Spencer how cute he still is, and how much he loves Spencer’s body, its leanness, its shape. Billy says he can’t believe their bodies still fit together. Billy says, “I guess—“ A kiss. “I guess it’s ‘cos we grew up together.”

They sleep, in each other’s arms, both of them in tears.

When they wake up, and Billy has to go, it’s a spectacle. They’re crying and Spencer can’t breathe. He’s kissing Billy for the life of him. They grab on to each other’s faces. Spencer can’t let go; he can’t.

“Billy, you have to leave,” he says. “You have to leave before I’m tempted to—to tell you to stay.”

“Tell me, Spence. Tell me to stay and I’ll do it.”

“You have to go.”

Billy sobs on Spencer’s shoulder. “Don’t make me go, Spence. Not again. Please.”

“Goodbye, Billy. Goodbye, again.”

Goodbye, again. The words hurt his hears. Billy leaves, again. The sight of him walking away makes Spencer want to faint, to scream, to die.

He’s dead.

He must be, because this must be what they meant by eternal punishment.

“Get yourself together, you dick,” he tells himself, against the door, trying to make himself stop crying. “You’re Spencer Wright. And you don’t need him.”

Jessica’s back, in a few minutes time. Spencer’s still crying, by then. He’s lying on the bed and curling himself up in a ball, taking in the smell left on his blanket.

“I told you, Spence. I told you.” She wraps her arms around him. “What are we supposed to do, now? You’re fucking wreck.”

He doesn’t speak. The only sound that escapes him is his throaty sob.

“You are so stupid,” Jessica starts crying, too. “Why do you this to yourself?” She drops her head on Spencer’s body. “Spencer, you have to stop this. You have to stop acting like a dick.”

He agrees with her. But there’s nothing he can do.

Spencer fixes his eyes on the window.

“Look,” he manages to say.

“What? What is it, Spence?”

He smiles, tears still flooding his cheeks.

“It’s snowing, Jess. It’s snowing.”

+

Back: to the red lights that hurt his eyes. The Christmas season is ending and he’s back to clubs with names flashed in pink and men dressed in leather.

+

Classes start going well, for him.

He has to retake a class, but apart from that, he thinks things are starting to look up.

He’s 20 and he’s building his film career. He’s going to do it, for sure. He already has something out there, via budding fashion designer Madame Callory.

Billy Joe Cobra has a new album out; it’s his third one. It’s been quite a wait, for the fans. From what Spencer hears, the Americans aren’t getting the first taste since he’ll be going to Europe to promote it.

He smiles when he imagines Billy puking at every single plane ride.

He shakes it off.

He focuses on the edits for his group project. His group wrote a love story, and Spencer shot every single take. His group mates had asked him, before they started, whether he had any love stories to offer. Spencer answers that he doesn’t because he’s never been in love before. They call him out on his shit. Spencer laughs, still not admitting to anything.

+

During many nights, he’s still at the clubs, because he’s not quitting the booze and the drugs and the dancing anytime soon.

+

His mother comes on a March, during a week when Spencer has a buttload of deadlines.

“Spency!” She screams, as soon as she sees him waiting for her. The airport is crowded, as it always is. Jessica is right behind Spencer, though she goes unacknowledged because his mother is too busy hugging him.

“Hey, mother, you’ve got another offspring right here, you know.”

“Jessy!” She screams, again. Spencer can tell Jessica regrets making herself known, because their mom goes batshit.

Her visit means one thing and one thing only: another hair dye.

Spencer is not unwilling to admit that he’s looking forward to another change.

He and Jessica go brunet, to hair the color of caramel.

“Oh the boys will go crazy for you,” Jane giggles, sitting between the chairs they set out in the living room.

“Are you talking to me or Spencer?” Jessica says.

“Both of you!” shouts Jane, fastening her arms around both their necks. “My sexy babies.”

“Ew.” Jessica sneers.

“Don’t call us sexy, ma. That’s fucked up.”

“Watch your words, young man,” she says, prompting him to roll his eyes.

She leaves in a week’s time, but she doesn’t go without buying Spencer and Jessica trunks of designer clothing. Jessica asks her where she got the money and Jane says Hugh had some sort of breakthrough with a very rich client.

They hug at the airport. Jane kisses their cheeks.

Once again, they’re left alone, parentless. Spencer wonders whether Jane suspects anything’s wrong, though Spencer knows his parents aren’t ones to care. They never have been.

+

Spencer’s always wished his mother would be someone he could cry on. He wishes Melissa were here with him, so he can complain to her about Billy, being all over the place, being a dick.

He sees Melissa again, one day, but not in person. She’s on television, with Billy. Her face flashes for a minute on the cameras of Saturday Night Live. Billy’s hosting, doing his monologue, and making a joke about riding his mother’s coattails.

Billy’s an amazing comedian. It’s just another one of his talents. For once, Spencer does feel happy seeing him. He’s not bitter, for once. He thinks it’s a breakthrough.

Melissa’s there again, at the end, hugging Billy. A cast member is patting Billy’s shoulder. Melissa laughs, big-mouthed, on the screen. Her hair is still down in curls, and her figure is still shaped like hourglass. She sends everyone a flying kiss.

The memory is clear in his head: Melissa baking peanut butter brownies, dancing, carrying Billy in her arms, telling him he’ll be a star, and telling him to do things she could never have done.

Spencer, again, feels happy, because he loves the woman. He loves her, and he hopes to see her again, to congratulate her on getting her wish.

+

The tour is coming up soon, and America’s probably going to be at least a little quieter on the issue of Billy Joe Cobra.

Spring break is looming in, and Jessica will be on her way to a martial arts training camp. Spencer is the one who packs her things, because for once, he wants to do something for her.

He takes a video of her in her taekwondo outfit, bursting out and doing kicks. It’s all fun and games until Jessica gets fed up with his laughing and kicks his groin. She’s the one who gets to laugh, after that.

She’s gone, and Spencer’s alone. He spends a day in bed, lazing around, not eating, not doing anything but sleep and read his guide to making horror films. That night, he goes to the club, with a friend this time.

Again, it’s strobe lights and creeps trying to feel him up. He tells them all to fuck off, because he’s fucking untouchable.

+

He sleeps at his friend’s house, and he wakes up in a rather good mood, even though he hears a lot of moaning from the other room. He stays over, for the time being, not wanting to be alone at his house.

He gets a few calls from an unknown number, and he doesn’t answer them, for the most part. He does, once, but he only hears a mumble.

For a minute, he thinks it’s probably Billy, but he shakes away the thought. His friend is still screaming in pleasure in his room; Spencer’s only company is the TV.

He goes home, at night.

Walking up to his door, he sees a man in a grandfather coat and baggy brown pants, sitting against the wall. He has sunglasses over his eyes and a hat over his head. He looks like he’s asleep.

Spencer squats down. “Now who the fuck are you?” he says.

When he takes off the man’s glasses, Spencer goes: _oh, fuck_.

He shakes the man’s shoulder.

“Billy—“ He shakes him. “Billy, what in god’s name are you doing here?”

His eyes open and he smiles. “Spencer, brobycakes, he—“ And then he squints. “Your hair’s different.”

“What are you doing here, Billy?” Spencer touches Billy’s hat, fingers through the edges.

Billy lifts his arms, and he suspends his hands just over Spencer’s head, stops.

“Can I?” he asks.

Spencer nods.

Billy runs his hands through Spencer’s hair. “I needed to see you,” he says.

“But why?”

“I don’t wanna go on the tour, Spence.”

Spencer bites his lip. “Why—What the fuck, Billy—Do you even have plan? I—“ He swallows. “Billy. I don’t—Let’s—Let’s go inside—“ He stands up and Billy follows him.

Inside, they stand, without any words. They stand by the couch, under a dim light, the smell of cheeseballs in the air.

Spencer folds his arms. “You are so careless, Billy. You don’t even think.” He lowers his head.

“Where’s the fun in thinking?”

A chuckle. “Oh, Jesus—“ Spencer draws near him. “Billy—You can’t just invade my life like this.”

“I can’t—“ He lifts his hands, shakes them at the side of his face. “I can’t help myself, Spence. I can’t stand not being in your life, shit. I can’t.”

Spencer nips his mouth, almost lets out a sob. “That’s so unfair,” he says. “I’m trying to get over you, Billy. But you’re making it too hard.”

Billy lays his hands on Spencer’s shoulders. “Then don’t,” he says. “Don’t get over me. Love me. I need you to love me.”

“You’re so selfish.”

“I am, I am, I can’t help it.”

Spencer kisses him. “Fuck you,” he says.

“Let’s run away.” Billy talks against Spencer’s mouth. “Let’s run away and never come back. C’mon, Spence. We can do it. We can be together if you just—if you just fucking let us.”

Billy kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, and doesn’t stop. “Spencer, please.”

Spencer can’t say yes, not now, not when he’s doing so well. But. This is Billy. And: his lips taste like home.

“Say yes, Spence, please.”

Billy’s hands are slipping into his shirt. Spencer trembles. He tugs on Billy’s hair while Billy moves to his neck, sucks on his skin.

“Lift me up,” Spencer tells him. “Lift me up, Billy. I—“

The force of Billy’s hands on his thighs interrupts him. Spencer assists; he makes his legs hook around Billy’s body.

“My room, Billy—“ He breathes on Billy’s ear. “Take me to my fucking room.”

It happens with speed.

When he’s dropped on the bed, he goes on a frenzy with his clothing. Billy rips off all his own layers and he helps Spencer take off his underwear.

Spencer tilts back his head while Billy bites his neck. He whispers where the lube is, where the condoms are. He tells Billy to be quick, because he needs it now. He hasn’t got the patience to wait.

He can’t keep his mouth off Billy, even when Billy’s preoccupied preparing them, slicking his fingers inside him. Billy slicks his cock, and in Spencer's eyes, it's glistening. He wants it to ruin him, more than it already has. Spencer breathes directly in Billy’s ear, lets out soft moans, lets out multiple whines.

The feeling of having Billy back inside, back with him, with his body—It’s almost too much to handle. The outline of Billy’s body is dim behind the faint light of the bedside lamp, but Spencer can still see him very well. He stares at how Billy’s stomach sweats while he thrusts again and again, without mercy, without a moment's rest. He watches Billy’s mouth as it gasps and heaves.

“So, so good,” Billy says.

Spencer nods and nods. "Your dick--ah--fuck--How did you--"

He doesn't know if refusing is an option anymore.

It probably isn’t.

The plan is set, and this is Spencer’s choice. He can’t let go, not now.

They fuck, they fumble for each other’s lips, and they struggle to breathe. They stop in the dead of the night, and Spencer looks for his bright yellow knapsack. He packs some food, some water, and some clothes.

He scribbles a note for Jessica on the refrigerator. _I might not come back. I’m with Billy, so don’t worry._ He knows she’ll curse to the heavens once she sees this, but he doesn’t give a shit at the moment.

The old sedan is red and borrowed and rusty – the perfect disguise. Billy borrowed it beforehand, from a friend, from Marina’s friend to be exact. It’s a cliché, a movie trope with a rusty ass, something Spencer is overly familiar with. The tank is only half-full, so they’ll have to stop for gas. Billy says they’ll do it once they’re out of New York.

They ride quietly, at the beginning.

The streets are still full of cars. The sounds of beeping and honking ring in Spencer’s ears. His eyes dart to all the lights on all the skyscrapers. He’s staring at the red and the blue when he feels Billy’s hand, warm, resting on his hand and over his lap. Billy’s pinky rubs at the gaps of Spencer’s fingers.

Spencer doesn’t know where Billy’s taking him, and he doesn’t care.

Past the building, and past the river, they leave New York City, and they chart unknown territory. Spencer speaks, once they get to a road that’s close to empty, streetlights dim and only truckers abound.

“Remind me why we should do this?” he says.

“Because it’s our only chance to go adventuring, together, just the two of us, without anyone honking our style.”

“Our style?”

“Damn right.”

A chuckle, and then silence again.

They stop at a gas station manned by a burly man with cocaine-studded fingers and red eyes. There’s a Stop-N-Shop, so they decide to go ahead and buy drinks.

Spencer barely concentrates on the selection because he’s thinking about roadtrip movies: Little Miss Sunshine, On the Road, and what have you. All of them have dramatic points where everything goes horribly wrong. One might die, or one might cry themselves to sleep.

“Spencer!” Billy calls, sounding giddy.

Spencer turns and raises an eyebrow. Billy has a kid with him, holding his hand. The kid is dressed in a white uniform, and he’s big-toothed, Billy-esque, wide-awake, even though it’s five in the morning.

“The little dude’s got a BJC action figure.” Billy pulls the boy to where Spencer is. The boy happily comes, and Billy happily jumps. The boy pulls out the hairdressing toy from behind him. Action figure. _Ha_.

“Billy Joe Cobra,” the boy says, voice tiny and smile wide.

Spencer smiles, squats down. He pats the boy’s head. “So you like BJC, huh?” The boy nods in reply, and he latches on to Billy’s elbow, presses his cheek against Billy’s joint.

Billy hugs the boy’s head. “I love the little guy,” he says.

Billy doesn’t want to leave the kid, when Spencer says they have to go. Spencer ends up buying a six-pack of beer, an oversized bottle of water, a bread loaf, and a jar of peanut butter. Spencer tells Billy they have to go, or he won’t let him open the jar. Billy tells the kid that it’s been nice, it’s been great, keep on being rad.

They drive on.

They drive on between tall trees. Spencer leaves the window open, because he wants to feel the chill on his cheeks. He wonders what the air would feel like on his teeth. He wonders what kind of people are waiting for them, wherever they're going.

“Nothing's clear to me yet,” he says.

“I have plan, don’t worry.”

They sleep, at another stopover. They sleep on their reclined seats, separately, unmoving.

Spencer wakes up, with the sudden urge to climb on to Billy’s lap.

No one’s watching. No one’s around. No one will judge them. Spencer sits on Billy, and he wakes the guy up with a kiss on the cheek.

“Billy, c’mon,” he says.

They kiss. Billy smells like sweat and dust, perfume fading away. Billy plants raspberries on Spencer's stomach, one, two, three.

They drive on, yet again.

“I was sleeping with quite a lot of guys, when you weren’t around,” Spencer says.

“Not something I wanna hear about.”

“Fine, then.” He folds his arms, focuses on the chill.

They sleep, that night, at the back, where they can lie on each other.

Spencer dreams of a farm, one with a quaint little house where everything is made of wood except the stove and the toilets. He dreams of running inside, leaving his boots by the door, beelining for the kitchen, and grabbing an apron. Billy’s there, cooking breakfast, and Spencer kisses him.

“So you remembered,” Billy tells him, once awake.

“Yeah, I did,” Spencer smiles.

“Then I guess I made the right choice, for a place.”

“What do you mean?”

He means this:

A field with a house made out of stone, dead center, beside a barn with a crumbled roof.

Billy has it in a crumpled photograph that he grabs from his pocket.

“Oh, Christ. Are we almost there?”

“I actually have no idea, bromigo.”

Instead of laughing, Spencer withholds, bites back, says, “You’re crazy. I love you.”

“Love you too, babe.”

That night, Billy grinds into Spencer from behind, with Spencer flat on his stomach in the backseat. "Billy, I'm close, oh--shit--what--that's--" They last for five minutes before they cum.

Billy’s running through a field in a day’s time. He’s running through grass, shouting out his woohoos and chucking out his laughter. Spencer runs with him, laughs with him, follows Billy’s lead.

“It’s an actual fucking farm,” Billy says, and Spencer tries to remember if the guy did ever see one. He hasn’t. Neither of them have. Too rich, too bourgeoisie.

Spencer thinks, _this—this has to be a dream. It has to be_.

On the grass, they lie flat on their backs.

“It smells like rain,” Billy says. “I love it, dude.”

Spencer closes his eyes.

He’s trying to make it all sink in. He rolls around, to Billy. He opens his eyes to see Billy smiling at the sky. Spencer has to hug him, to make sure he’s real.

His fingers tighten at Billy’s thigh.

“How long will this last?” he asks.

Billy points up, “Oh my God, the cloud’s shaped like a ladybug.”

“Billy—“

“Is that an eagle? Are there eagles in this part of the country?”

“Billy, please—“

“I think I’m gonna do some handiwork later, with a hoe or something. You up for it?”

“Billy, please, answer me.” Spencer presses his forehead onto Billy’s temple. “How long will this last?”

Billy doesn’t speak.

“You’ll leave me again.” Spencer heaves.

Billy doesn’t answer, doesn’t reassure him.

“You’re gonna break my heart, and I won’t be able to take it this time.” His mouth trembles.

Again, Billy’s quiet. He strokes Spencer’s hair, and he plants his nose down to Spencer’s scalp.

“I love you,” he says, finally.

“Don’t lie.” Spencer hugs Billy tighter.

“I’m not, Spence.” His voice fades. “I’m not.”

+

Not now, not now. He can’t have second thoughts. Not now.

Shirtless, Billy has some fun weeding out the grass, getting his hands dirty, while he sings his song about yachts and moneybags, ironic. Spencer watches while standing by the entrance to the barn. He kicks some dirt, kicks some worms, notices Billy’s stomach is dirt-stained and his hair is sweat laden. Spencer is fully layered and clean, except for a few specks of dirt on his face.

“I’ll give you about a day,” he shouts, to Billy. He’s given up trying to be happy.

Billy shrugs it off, as he drops to the ground and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

Spencer walks away, off to the house made of stone. He doesn’t take off his shoes. He waltzes in, and sees dust on the walls, spiders in the corners.

“Oh fucking hell, Billy,” he murmurs. “What a fucking shithole.”

Wiping away the dust, he sits on the red couch. He sneezes, and he curses under his breath.

Billy comes in, a few minutes later. He’s smiling, running his hands through his hair, and he says, “You like it?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Aw, c’mon.” Billy pouts.

Spencer lifts up his hands. “What, Billy? What can you fucking say to make me fucking like this place?”

“It’s ours. This is our place. It belongs to us, dude.”

“No, it doesn’t, _dude_.”

“No, it doesn’t, but we can pretend it does.” He grins, big-toothed. Spencer’s jaw tightens, and his mouth quivers.

“Oh, God, Billy.”

Spencer ends up standing and breaking the space between them. He takes Billy’s hand. “You know we’ll end up having to go home, right? We can’t live here forever. Hell, I don’t think we can last two days, Billy.”

“We can try.”

“We can—try—“ Spencer swallows.

“Yeah, bromigo.”

Spencer looks down. “You’re hurt.” Billy is: black marks on his palms and blood on his fingers.

“It’s nothing.” Again, he grins, big-toothed. Afterwards, he leans down to plant a kiss on Spencer’s cheek. “Now let’s go clean up this place,” he says, letting go of Spencer’s hand, walking away to the kitchen.

“We’re making a mistake, Billy.”

“Shut up, Spence.”

Spencer scratches his head. His temples are starting to feel heavy.

He cleans, with Billy. He brushes away the dust on the stove and the table. He scrubs the tiles in the bathroom, shoos away the insects in the corners. Billy makes sure the one bedroom is clean. He finds new sheets with polka dots in a close; he finds an old lamp he can set on the bedside table. He makes sure it’s ready for the both of them, for the night.

“You’re still so tight, Spence.”

“Says you.”

The bed creaks. They can barely see – dim lamp, no moonlight. Spencer thinks the headboard might just break; he feels it wobbling in his fingers while fucks himself on Billy’s cock. He slides, up and down; he feels stretched. He feels weak, but he tries his hardest to keep going until he sees Billy buck, and gasp, and say, "Oh--God--Shit--"

Billy's hands slide down Spencer’s sides. Spencer keeps his hands pressed on Billy’s chest, tries to get ahold of himself, tries to keep reality in check. Billy’s too noisy, saying too much, saying “I love you, Spence,” and Spencer can hear it: He can hear a heart, Billy’s heart, stopping, breaking in half.

+

Spencer wakes up to see Billy, face peaceful, jaw wet, skin smudged, sleeping beside him, and as soon as he does, he decides he can’t do this.

He runs.

The wind rushes through his face, through his hair, and through his lungs while he runs across the fields and towards the road. His backpack is slung around his shoulders. His clothes are wrinkled and used. His knees are still weak from last night, but he doesn’t let that stop him.

“Spencer!”

He hears Billy running for him, screaming his name, desperate. Spencer lets out a river, water tracking down his cheeks.

“You can’t stop me, Billy,” he says, trying to shout, but sounding like a sobbing fool instead.

He gets to the road, and he pants. He can still hear Billy’s shouts. Spencer runs for it. He’ll run, until he can find a bus, or any sort of car, so he can leave this place and never have to see Billy again. He won’t go home; he’ll change his name, change his hair, change himself, just so he won’t have to deal with Billy ever again.

He falls to the ground, not because he’s imbalanced, but because Billy makes him, tackles him. Billy grabs on to his body. Billy climbs on his back and pins him down. It's painful. He's heavy. Spencer yells, "Get the fuck away!"

“You’re not leaving me here,” Billy cries. “Fuck you, Spence. You’re not leaving me here.”

Billy turns him around, kisses him. “You fucking dick,” he says. “You’re worse than I am.”

Spencer wheezes. “It’s just so fucking hard, Billy. It’s hard knowing it won’t last.”

“I know, but we can make it last for as long as we can.”

“No.”

“Okay, you want to leave? Then let’s go. Let’s leave.” Billy kisses him. “Just take me with you.”

“I’m taking you back, to where you’re supposed to be.”

“And where is that?”

“On a plane to Europe.”

“Fine, but you’ll have to stay with me before I board. Okay?”

Spencer swallows. “No."

"Spence."

"Fine.”

Then, Billy’s kissing him some more, opening Spencer’s mouth with his tongue. Spencer notices his hands are covered in gloves. It doesn’t feel right that he’s being touched not by bare skin, but by cotton.

“You’re hurt,” Spencer says.

“I’m always hurt. I thought you would have realized that, by now.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Then shut up, Spence. Shut up and let me do this.”

+

And then, they’re there, on the bus, because they’re out of gas, and they’re out of will. There goes the sweep in Spencer’s ear – a song, a voice, jagged yet sweet. The crying doesn’t stop. Billy pleads, “You’re not gonna leave me again, okay?” Spencer’s confused because he doesn’t know who’s leaving who.

Spencer tells him the story of when they first met, the pink yacht and the toy and the kiss that kind of sealed their fate. It makes Billy laugh, just a bit. It makes Spencer laugh, too. Billy doesn’t remember it, he says. Spencer hits him, right on the leg, and then he chortles.

+

Spencer remembers the day when they first had sex, how in love he was, how things were much, much simpler. He remembers the blush on Billy’s cheeks, and the heat of his body, the beat of his heart.

Spencer remembers the day he told Billy it was over, how broken he was, how he couldn’t even breathe. He remembers the tears on Billy’s cheeks, and the heat of his body, the beat of his heart.

At New York, Spencer tells him, “I can’t stay away from you.”

“Me neither.”

They hold hands while they stand right in front of the door to Spencer’s apartment. Billy leans against the wall, swings their arms. He presses his lips together and he sighs.

“So what do we do?” Spencer says.

“We hide, like we always have.”

“But how do we do it?”

“We’ll think of something.” Billy winks.

“Why didn’t we do this before?”

“I don’t know, Spence. Why don’t you ask yourself?”

Something drops in the pit of Spencer’s stomach. He was scared; he was so scared of all the consequences. He’s still scared now, even more so.

+

He doesn’t see Billy for two months, because he’s in Europe, twanging his guitar, meeting crowds of squealing fans.

It’s day seventy of his time away from Billy. So far, he's passed two short films into separate in-campus contests. He's won zero, but he has to start somewhere.

He rushes out of the school, while he talks to Jessica on the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, but I might be home late, so could you take care of it for me? Please?” Jessica’s telling him the fridge is broken, shouting in his ear, freaking out because she thinks she might burn the apartment.

“Oh, fuck. Fine. I’m using your fucking card, okay?”

“Yeah, no biggie.”

Spencer hangs up. He rubs his fingers on the keypads, and he smiles brightly. Today is a good day.

He runs through the pedestrian lane, and he bumps a bunch of ladies in heels, men in black, hipsters with flower crowns. It’s four o’clock and he has to get to the nearest Starbucks.

Outside, he sits, on a steel chair under a patio umbrella. He yawns, and he sneaks a peak at his phone. Someone sets two coffees down on the table, and Spencer takes one of them, nonchalant. Spencer looks up, and his lips curve into a smile.

“Hiya,” Spencer says.

A chair is pulled and a man in sunglasses, a fedora, a Rolling Stones t-shirt, and tight yellow jeans sits right beside Spencer.

“You’re looking awfully beautiful today, brobycakes,” Billy says. He hovers his hands over Spencer's head, asks, "Can I?" and upon getting an okay, he says, “I like this color on you. I always have.”

“Original’s always the best, right?” Spencer kisses Billy’s cheek.

“Always.” Billy kisses Spencer’s mouth.

Today is a good day.

Spencer spends it walking the streets, lightly trailing his fingers on Billy’s arm, lightly pressing kisses on Billy’s cheek.

Spencer remembers the day when he first realized he was in fact in love with Billy Joe Cobra. He remembers the bleachers. He remembers clinging on to Billy’s arm. He remembers Billy telling him about farmers and pigs and cows. He remembers the peanut butter smudged on his lips.

He hears Billy breathe, right in his ear. He hears college students talking about current events all around him. Billy whispers, sings, and Spencer swoons.

Spencer remembers the day when Billy said, “I’m totally gonna marry you, Spencer Wright, once we’re allowed to.” Spencer laughs on Billy’s cheek, because Billy brought it up. Billy says the promise still stands; Spencer says it better be.

Someday, they won’t have to keep any more secrets. Someday, they won’t, but today, _shucks, Billy, don’t grab my ass in public_ —Spencer laughs.

Today is a good day.

 

**the end.**


End file.
